


Wyverns and Puppies

by IonicPaladin



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: EOS - Freeform, F/M, Manorian, abraxos - Freeform, dorian havilliard - Freeform, manon blackbeak - Freeform, tog - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 10:53:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 34,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14259399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IonicPaladin/pseuds/IonicPaladin
Summary: A collection of Manorian short stories/drabbles written from prompts/requests given by readers. They cover a variety of genres and scenarios ranging from fluff to angst.





	1. Nightmare

Dorian awoke to a shifting next to him, so persistent that even when he felt like he needed to sleep for a week he still opened his eyes. It was still nighttime, thank the gods, as the young King breathed out. Panting confused him, especially since it originated from the spot next to him.

“Witchling?”

It was indeed Manon, breathing heavily, her hands up on her face, her legs brushing his in what he understood was an attempt to drive something away. He knew well enough what was going on and in response, Dorian shifted closer. While keeping his eyes on her hands in case she lashed out, the King ignored the ache in his muscles as he raised a hand to touch at her.

When it was clear that the witch was too in her head to possibly attack him, Dorian rubbed at his face to clear his eyesight. “Hey, Manon.” He yawned as he sat up, rubbing her hair in a way he knew annoyed her before trying to shake her. When neither of those things worked, he figured he had to be a little more forceful.  
Leaning down, he took her against his chest. “Hey, wake up, it’s just a dream.”  
But she was stiff and shaking, causing the King to raise his eyebrows. Her heart seemed like it would burst out of her chest and the little noise she let out caused a shiver to go down his spine. 

This was no ordinary nightmare. 

Wide awake now, Dorian stroked her back with one hand while the other he used to go for the hands on her face. “Manon, wake up.”

It took him a bit of coaxing but she finally did wake, going stiff with a gasp. Even her breathing stilled. 

Giving her time to gather her bearings, Dorian kept stroking her back, slower this time. “You’re okay, witchling. It’s just a dream,” he whispered into her hair, a slight teasing tone attached to it.

Only the sound of the wind could be heard, ruffling the trees and making a branch scratch at the only window in the small room.

Manon growled and Dorian let out a yelp as he was pushed off the small cot, falling right on his ass on the cold floor. “Hey, what the hell? That hurt.”

But she wasn’t looking at him as the witch sat up, her eyes going to the window. Dorian huffed, peeved as he said, “it’s just the wind.” He rubbed his backside. “You didn’t have to push me off the bed.”

After making sure there truly was no threat, those pretty eyes finally turned to him. “You didn’t have to stay.”

He stood up, flinching at the freezing temperature on his bare feet. Despite his magic, Dorian was only immune to self-inflicted cold, not nature’s. “Well, you didn’t kick me out.”

The half roll of the eyes she gave him was short of adorable, and the King fought the attraction with a driving force. “Move over.”

A silvery eyebrow came up. “What?”

“I’m still staying the night here, move over.”

The tone of voice didn’t sit well with Manon, who bared her iron teeth at him. “Do I look like someone you can just order around?”

But Dorian was sleepy and grumpy and at this point he didn’t care what she thought as he pushed her over and went under the warm sheets. The outrage on her face was almost comical. “How dare-”

“It’s cold,” he cut in, “and your bed is warm.” So let’s stop talking, and lie back down, he pleaded with his eyes.

It seemed to work since the witch pursed her lips in disapproval, but didn’t push him out of the bed again. Dorian lay down-already feeling comfortable despite the fact that there was a bloodthirsty Witch-Queen glaring at him. With a smirk since she was looking, the King signaled at himself in an effort to get her to lie on his chest.

Scoffing, Manon smacked his hand away before lying down next to him, facing away, showing distance despite them being next to each other. Dorian tried to bury the disappointment by turning it into something else. “What was the nightmare about?”

He watched her shoulders stiffen. “Didn’t you want to sleep?”

Impossible, this witch was impossible. “We can never have a normal conversation, can we?” He asked with a chuckle she did not reciprocate. 

“If you want someone to talk pleasantries with, you are in the wrong room.”

“What do witches dream about?” There was a rumble in response and Dorian bit at his bottom lip to keep the smile on his face from growing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.” 

“I dream of eating out your heart,” she hissed, but all Dorian could think about was how he would enjoy eating her out-her hand shot out for his neck, the iron nails scratching over his jugular. 

“Naughty princeling,” she muttered in a voice that traveled all the way down his pants. She had caught the scent of his arousal. “What do you dream about?” 

She had turned to him and his eyes immediately fixated on her mouth, those full lips drawing him in, distracting from whatever she asked. Dorian watched, entranced, as Manon slowly touched over his stomach, raising her head so she hovered above him.

Brushing his lips with hers…

The witch let out an amused breath as she drew back. “Do not think for a second, that you are in control.” Surprised at the move, Dorian couldn’t even speak as she lay back down in the same position as before. “Go to sleep, princeling.”

Dorian let out a brisk laugh, though he kept his voice low so as not to disturb others. “I see how this is,” he said with a nod. “Alright, goodnight witching.”

She didn’t answer, not that he expected her to. 

Because of the rejection from earlier however, Dorian waited until her body relaxed and her breathing evened out before he made his own move. When he was sure she was deep asleep, the King took a painstakingly long time to maneuver her around while being extremely careful not to wake her, just so he could have her against his chest in a hug he smiled widely at.


	2. Wyvern

Abraxos opened his eyes and the first thing he did was stretch, his wings opening up while he yawned widely. For a moment, the wyvern lay his head back down, enjoying how the fresh hay felt under his head. But then he was shaking himself, getting up and walking toward the water well in the middle of the aerie.

He greeted a few of the other wyverns with head bobs and soft snarls, banging heads with one of the bulls and giving the sky blue female that slept on the stable next to him a soft purr. The only wyvern at the well stepped back as soon as he was spotted and Abraxos grunted his thanks. As alpha, Abraxos’ needs came first. No wyvern challenged him, though it was still a relief to have the aerie relatively empty, as most of the pack were out with their riders.

When he finished drinking, Abraxos flapped his wings, preparing them for the possible flight ahead, showing off how they shimmered in the morning light to the other wyverns. Feeling pride inundate him.

The smallest of the wyverns in the aerie turned his head to the doors at the back, and if he could smile, it would be the widest to ever exist. With a jump and shake, Abraxos bounded toward the back part of the wide aerie, his tail swishing as he inhaled.

_Manon. Manon._

His rider appeared from the doorway and Abraxos breathed out in her presence. “Good, you’re awake.”

_Awake. Awake._

Abraxos sniffed at his rider, touching at her bag and observing her closely, making sure there was no blood, or that she was hurt. As Manon walked toward the other side of the aerie, Abraxos followed her-not even the sky blue female could take his gaze away from his rider when it was time for a flight. There was nothing he preferred.

With a nudge, Abraxos placed his head under the witch’s arm, purring when she stroked the spot of withered skin. “We’re going to the valley,” she told him.

_Valley. Valley._

Abraxos let her climbed on, his favorite thing in the whole world and after an infuriatingly long time he felt the kicks to the side of his hide. With a happy screech Abraxos burst into the air, immediately knowing where to go, loving the wind and the freedom and the weight on his back.

Unfortunately, the trip was over too soon and Abraxos reluctantly landed, not being able to hold back a groan as Manon jumped down. “Don’t be dramatic. Wait for me.”

_Wait for me. Wait for me._

**_Forever_** _._ He wanted to say, but instead lowered his muzzle and closed his eyes as she stroked his head. Again, too soon was it over, but Abraxos knew the reason. The approaching scent was answer enough.

“There is a skirmish on the western front.”

“Ilken?” She asked, and the wyvern focused on her voice, entranced. He wanted to copy the sounds, to get her attention. But he had tried before, and it did not work.

“Yes,” the other voice said, not as lovely or interesting.

But his rider had turned to it and Abraxos didn’t understand the why. All he wanted was for her to look at him again.

As a result, he shook his head a bit, but got distracted by a hen pecking at the grass close to a tent. “No eating,” she warned.

_Eating. Eating._

The wyvern turned to his rider just as she looked away, toward the male-the owner of the voice. One he had smelled on her many times. Whom he had carried before. Not an enemy so not deserving of the wyvern’s attention at the moment.

“Hello Abraxos, miss me?” Abraxos kept his eyes on his rider though he snorted, uncaring of what the blue-eyed human said. He wanted Manon to go with him, to fly some more. But she was soon gone, and Abraxos whined a bit as she went, garnering a look of warning to behave in response.

With nothing to do, the wyvern lay down, looking up at the clouds, noting the passage of time until his rider came back.

The clouds floated by and the ball of fire in the sky went out, the pale orb replacing it, similar in color to the strands that grew on her head, but still Manon didn’t come.

Abraxos sniffed at the air, searching for her scent and feeling an ounce of relief as he detected her about fifty wingbeats from where he was. Desperation made him want to follow, obedience made him stay.

No blood. There was no blood mixed with her scent.

He snarled at the thought, startling the humans and animals nearby.

Blood was the smell he most hated.

Hers was the one he loved most.

He was painfully aware of how very bad it was when the color of the sky coated her soft hide, the pale skin breakable and not strong like his.

_Manon. Manon._

Abraxos lifted his head, noting how the sun was in the middle of the sky and blinking as he looked around from under the shade of a tree. His rider was back, not smelling of blood or gore, but of food. The wyvern stood up, his eyes going to Manon and staying there, searching for injuries, scenting again for the sky color.

Nothing. Nothing, but the scent of the male from before, heavily entangled with hers. He didn’t care as long as she was healthy.

“You didn’t cause trouble, did you?”

_Trouble. Trouble._

He stretched. His wings opening up and blowing air at her. The growl she sent was music to his ears and Abraxos swished his tail in delight as he went up to her, sniffing again just to make sure she was fine and there was nothing bad under the pelts she wore. His attention landed on the meat in her hand and he nosed at it.

“I know I took longer than expected so I got you a gift. This is prime meat. Enjoy it.”

_Enjoy. Enjoy._

Abraxos gulped it up in one swipe, shivering in pleasure as he noted the taste and form. It was great meat. And she had brought it to him. His rider had fed him.

“Alright, let’s go.”

_Let’s go. Let’s go._

**_Yes._ **

The wyvern urged her ahead, nudging at her waist and softly pushing her toward the saddle on his back. She breathed out, but did not reprimand him and soon they were back in the wind, crossing the skies.

Finally, they were together.

…

And it was perfect.


	3. Snowfire

“How much?”

The tall man smiled as he said the price, an outrageous amount for some, but Manon expected the number, prepared for it. “I assure you, my lady, this is of my finest brood. The best I have bred in all my years.”

The Blackbeak merely raised her eyebrows, watching what was being offered with a critical eye. “You must understand why I want only the best,” she explained as she continued the thorough examination.

The man bowed. “She will be ready to breed after about a year.”

Manon went over the price again, making sure this was what she was looking for. “May I touch her?”

The seller stepped back as Manon crouched, expertly hiding her twitch when the puppy went right to her. It was the largest of the brood, of the strongest and purest line of herding dogs. A deep white and gray in color, with a pink nose and a tail that did not sit still.

The man chuckled. “She likes you.” The witch picked up the dog, checked its paws and ears, stomach and tail. All the while the puppy was happily panting, going so far as to lay on its back for a belly rub. After another look over, Manon nodded to herself.

“I will take her.” As the money was exchanged, Manon spoke again. “Does she have a name?”

“Not officially, we usually leave that to the owners, but my little boy called her Snowfire.”

Snowfire. Interesting.

“Thank you.”

He bowed low. “No, thank you, I’m sure you will take good care of her, Your Majesty.”

…

Leaving the large estate, Manon whistled for Abraxos after she reached the lower valley, watching as the wyvern circled around before landing.

The puppy squealed and kicked, trying to bury herself in Manon’s arm. “Hm, good instincts.” She soothed the pup slowly, liking how soft the fur felt. “Abraxos, this is Snowfire, Snowfire this is Abraxos.”

As if understanding what the dog was going through, Abraxos lowered his head and tucked his wings in an effort to appear smaller. With his long neck almost parallel to the ground, Abraxos sniffed at the shaking pup. Manon turned Snowfire around, letting her be close, but making sure she could see the wyvern.

Slowly, Manon stroked her head and then repeated the action on Abraxos who hummed at the attention. “See?” She asked quietly. “We’re all friends here.”

Finally gaining courage, Snowfire sniffed at the wyvern who had gone so still he appeared like a statue. With some coaxing on Manon’s part, the pup leaned forward, sniffing again. When Abraxos repeated the action, the pup startled, but not in fear. She barked which caused the wyvern to do the same.

The tail wagging began then and Manon figured they still had some time before they had to go, so she placed the puppy on the grass and let her approach Abraxos. “Don’t eat her.”

Abraxos looked at her as if to say ‘ _as if a tiny thing like this would be considered food,_ ’ before he moved back, letting Snowfire follow him. It took but a minute before the duo was running along the flowers and Manon warned Abraxos not to go too far before she crossed her arms and looked toward the sky. A storm would be coming soon, but she was heading west, not east.

As of late she had noticed a slight change in Dorian, nothing drastic or shocking, but she had noticed. Noticed how he looked at his old breeding holds in longing and how he sometimes mentioned that he really missed his dogs. They had all died in the first overtaking of Rifthold, years ago, and he had not forgotten them.

Times were relatively peaceful now, despite all the delegating both of them had to do. The only reason she chose now to get the dog was because she was dealing with a Yellowlegs coven that lived near a small coven of Crochans. Settling their differences and finding common ground had been long and arduous, but after a few days, Manon finally found headway and the meeting was able to move smoother.

When the witch spotted a pair of wyverns flying overhead, she whistled at Abraxos who came at her immediately, leaving poor Snowfire behind, stumbling and yapping. Manon let the pup get to her before picking her up and tying her on a makeshift sac around her chest so she wouldn’t fall mid-flight.

As Manon climbed on Abraxos and strapped in, the pup popped her head out of the bag, her little tongue flapping happily as she looked around. The Queen let herself smile as they flew into the sky where Asterin and Sorrel were waiting.

…

Dorian was not happy.

He had a headache, he couldn’t figure out why the Lords to the south wouldn’t listen to him, the food he had for lunch had been bland, and he really missed Manon. The latter had gone to the eastern edge of Adarlan for a whole week. A week!

And he still had to wait another two whole days before she got back.

Grumbling to himself, Dorian walked toward his rooms, already going over what he was going to do. An hour signing papers, then another writing letters, and a third marking the changes in the castle’s coffers. Nodding to the people that bowed, the King finally arrived at his rooms, letting out a breath in relief at the silence once he stepped through the door. No one looked at him in here, no one judged him for his decisions or his ‘ignorance’ or because of how ‘young and foolish’ he was. There was just him and his work.

After changing into more comfortable clothing, the King walked to his office, opening the door…before stopping short.

“Hi.”

_Yip!_

He didn’t move as he examined the scene before him. His Queen was standing there, changed out of her leathers, her hair unbound and feet bare…with an adorable black and grey puppy in her arms, its tail wagging and its little tongue out as it panted.

“What?” Dorian whispered.

Manon walked forward, narrowing her eyes as she spoke, “I got you a gift while in the eastern lands. I also lied about how much time I needed for the trip.”

His heart felt close to bursting, and his vision actually blurred. His mind was scrambled, but he could deduce one thing out of this mess. “You got me a puppy?” He squeaked as silver lined his eyes.

The witch nodded, lifting the pup so he could see it better. “Her name is Snowfire and she is of Hellfire’s line.” Hellfire. His favorite dogs had all been from Hellfire’s line, Aelin’s Fleetfoot included.

Slowly he reached for the dog, who immediately went to him, licking at his hands and then his face, bouncing in his arms like a rabbit.  

“How-why…how much did she cost?”

Manon scoffed, waving her hand. “You don’t ask someone the price of a gift.”

He looked back at the dog. “By the Wyrd…oh my Wyrd,” he cried, “Thank you. I love her. And I love you.”

The witch gave him a small smile, repeating his words with a whisper as she stroked at the puppy behind the ears. “You’re welcome,” she added then, as the pup closed her eyes in delight.

And for the first time in years…

Dorian cried.


	4. Payment

Dorian Havilliard let out a tired breath as he studied the war plans in front of him sent by Ren Allsbrook, who was currently north of their encampment. With an aerial cavalry now forming and the ground troops ready, it was time to move toward Terrasen’s capital and reunite with the rest of the armies. The King of Adarlan hoped that at least Aelin would be there, though he had received no news that she had been recovered.

After conversing with a lower general on the state of their troops, few but in good state, the blue-eyed man left the tent he was in, intent on gathering information on Chaol and Nesryn, who were set to arrive at any moment. Only then would they take their leave.

“Dorian.”

For the first time in the whole day, Dorian gave a smile as he turned. He mocked bow, “Your Majesty.”

Manon narrowed her eyes at him, and he was actually surprised to see no one around her. It had taken time and effort for the Crochans, and the few Ironteeth clans that they could contact to have some semblance of trust for the Thirteen and Manon, but war seemed to be a convincing enough factor-at least for the moment. Since then, it had been almost natural to see the new Queen flanked by followers, specifically by her Second and Third.

“Where are Asterin and Sorrel?”

Manon’s mouth twitched. “I sent them away.”

“Away?” Dorian repeated, his brows coming together.

The white-haired witch gave him a smile and his eyes immediately went for her lips. “I felt we needed time, alone.” He nodded as she stepped forward, her movements rather tense, but smooth while her eyes remained on his face. “I canvased the area with my wyvern, and found a spot for us to spend our time in.”

The King blinked as she took his wrist. “A spot?”

“Yes, far from prying eyes.”

For a moment, he let himself be lead away, partially due to the way she was touching him. “Manon.”

The witch was on him immediately, closing the distance between their faces and meeting their lips. Dorian responded instinctually. Due to how busy they had both been preparing for the war, it had been days since they last kissed and he had actually missed those moments. She broke it off with a small grin and he tried to level his head as she urged him forward once more. Convinced that all she wanted was to have some time for them to reconnect, Dorian followed after her.  

It took them about an hour to trek along the side of the mountain their main camp was stationed at, and still Manon moved, stealing glances at him and brushing against him as they moved. “Where are we going exactly?” He asked, after the quiet had gone on for too long.

“There is a valley north of here.”

“A valley? I think there are valleys that are closer than this one.” In fact, they went by one not ten minutes before.

Manon turned to him. “This one is different.”

The nagging feeling in Dorian’s stomach crept up to his chest and neck and he found himself stopping. “Is something wrong, witchling?”

She frowned at him, her lips twitching as if she wanted to bear her teeth. “Do you not want to spend time with me?”

Her speech pattern was off somehow and the King slowly took his hand away. “Something’s wrong.”

Her face smoothed out and she once again smiled, lovely and pretty, but not…her. “Everything’s fine, Dorian.”

The mentioned one swallowed, his magic flaring up in warning. “May I ask you a question?” He muttered, as his body discreetly moved back.

“We are not far from the valley. We can speak there.”

“Your wyvern,” he interrupted, “what is your wyvern’s name?”

Manon snorted, “what sort of question is that?”

“What is your wyvern’s name?”

The witch stared at him and he stared back. As his heartbeat quickened the expression on Manon’s face darkened. “Come now, little King,” she purred sounding not at all like the witch he was starting to know better and a lot like something else, something ancient. When Manon-who was definitely not Manon stepped forward, Dorian stepped back. “I was curious,” she admitted.

The blue-eyed man harnessed his magic in preparation. It made sense now, in the sunlight. Her skin wasn’t as lively, her hair did not have the same sheen when the sunlight hit it, her lips weren’t as full, and the eyes a faded gold, not the burnt color that had become her staple. It wasn’t a perfect shift, no, it was missing…something.

His face must have betrayed him for the witch spoke again. “If you do not service me, human, I will just have to find another.” _Human_.

“What are you?” And how did this thing have Manon’s face? “A shapeshifter?” Dorian had seen a grand total of zero shapeshifters barring Lysandra, so for there to be another one, and for it to target him specifically, this was more than a coincidence. It was planned.

Manon smiled as she passed her hand through her hair. “More than that, but enough chatting about what I am or am not. The white-haired Blackbeak witch you bed owes me.”

He should run, but Dorian was curious, interested. “Owes you what?”

Something dark and shadowy began to crawl its way behind her, spindly things that broke off as she kept talking. “ _Ten yards_ ,” she sneered, “ _of my **silk**_ **!** ”

The King didn’t even have time to scream.

…

Manon Blackbeak, now more than just a Wing Leader, remained silent as she considered the offer that had been made. One of the Crochan covens that had joined their party wanted better accommodations and as it was, the only available thing to do was to move an Ironteeth coven to the outskirts of the camp, where it was colder and more dangerous.

“Your Majesty?” The coven leader asked and Manon couldn’t ignore the way the words were spoken, as an insult. A perfect example of what they all thought of her.

It was clear the Crochans did not trust Manon, who perhaps understood the why better than anyone. Still, she had managed to cajole three Crochan covens so far and she would not be intimidated by a coven leader that felt entitled to more than what she had been given.

Manon kept her features pristine, calm. “I will consider you request.”

Asterin tensed beside her while the Crochan scoffed. “Consider?” She spat, “perhaps my coven will ‘consider’ its leave.”

Though the Queen could feel her Second and Third go stiff at the words, Manon gave a solemn nod. “If that is what you wish, then you are free to do so.”

Maintaining peace and order was not in Manon’s nature and more than once had she snapped and made things more difficult for everyone. Ruling was much more difficult than leading in a battle. Ruling entitled discipline and consideration, it required critical thought and honeyed words. Very different than what she was used to, where leading meant taking quick choices and crushing opposition with an iron fist, be it friend or foe.

She kept the hard stare of the Crochan coven leader. At least in the intimidation department, Manon was more than capable. The brown-haired witch crossed her arms. “Very well, we will remain in this camp for another day. If our requests are ignored, we shall leave.”

A day.

Only a day.

Manon already had to deal with three Ironteeth covens, two Blackbeak and a Blueblood. They were not happy with having to form alliances with their sworn enemy despite the fact that they swore fealty to a half-breed Queen. On top of that, she had been given _human_ soldiers to look out for, ‘Aelin’s’ doing. Why the shapeshifter and the Queen’s cousin sent her mortal troops was beyond her. Troops which she now had to cater with, who needed permission for every little thing, every single battle. Who couldn’t so much as blink without her giving the say so.

It tired Manon. Considerably.

“So be it,” she finally said and the coven leader lowered her head in some semblance of deference before taking her leave.

Manon closed her eyes, feeling a headache coming through as Sorrel growled loudly. “I can’t believe this. The disrespect coming from these Crochans-”

“Enough,” Manon ordered and her Third, at least, followed her order without question. It felt like that was a rarity now. Even those human commanders underneath her had the nerve to question her abilities, to provoke her volatile nature, to go even so far as to mention her _sex_ as a liability. She didn’t even want to _think_ about the witches right now.

“Manon.”

“What,” she barked, looking at her Second with a heavy frown.

“Your next meeting isn’t for another few hours, maybe you should…rest.”

Careful words, and Manon only noticed she had dented the wooden table in front of her when she released her hold on it. Neither of her witches spoke, waiting for their Queen to say something. “Fine,” she muttered, standing up and leaving the tent.

She took but a few steps outside before a young soldier ran toward her, panting in the late summer heat. “Your Majesty,” he said, bowing low while he heaved, “Lord Chaol and Captain Nesryn have arrived.”

Great, more trouble.

“Tell Dorian to handle it.”

“My Lady, with all due respect, the King is nowhere to be found, I and two others have searched the entire camp.”

With a look, Manon sent Sorrel away before turning back to the boy. “Where have our visitors taken position?”

“Toward the southeastern side, Majesty.”

“Alright, thank you.”

Both the boy and Asterin stared at her in shock and she didn’t let it faze her when a heavy blush ran up the soldier’s neck. He bowed low and scurried off without another word. Perhaps she should thank people more often, it seemed to make them more malleable at least.

As the Queen and her Second walked toward the edge of the encampment, Asterin let out a chuckle. “Maybe I should tell Dorian to beware, because he seems to have some competition.”

Manon didn’t look at her as she spoke. “His absence right now is already a loss.” Asterin laughed and the white-haired witch let herself smile too.

The new arriving soldiers from the south of the continent were already setting up camp as Manon and Asterin made their way through horses and tired men. The stares and surprised looks were expected and expertly ignored while Manon searched for the largest tent in the encampment, already set up in the middle of the new spot.

When the duo reached the tent, a quad of large soldiers stopped them. Asterin smiled at them, though her iron teeth were out in full view. “Move aside for the Witch-Queen, soldiers.”

The men turned to each other but didn’t move and Manon had to fight the urge to roll her eyes as she faced them, unimpressed. “We’re allies, not the enemy,” she told them calmly.

“Hardly,” a gruff voice spoke and Manon blinked at the dark hair and harsh glare that took her in. Besides Chaol, the Captain of the Guard stood with her hand on the pommel of her sword, glancing between the two witches warily. Though relying on a cane, the former captain exuded a confident swagger as he stared at Manon. “Where is the King?”

The witch inhaled his scent, taking in the lack of fear and growing anger at being forced to delegate with what he assumed was an enemy. “I’d assume you’d know.”

“Well,” he bit back, “you have assumed wrong.” He turned to Nesryn, who nodded toward the guards.

“Find him.”

Manon spoke. “We should-”

“Do nothing,” Chaol cut in, “I’m not speaking to you until I talk with Dorian.”

Asterin growled, but Manon placed a hand on her arm to stop her. Fighting her every instinct to demand respect, the white-haired witch lowered her head slowly. She knew what her Second was thinking, but she had promised herself to try and be more diplomatic. The fate of many was more important than her pride at this moment. “As you will it,” she replied, hating the words on her tongue.

Chaol seemed completely unimpressed. “Then get out of my encampment.”

…

“You truly are fit for this,” Asterin told her as they went back to the witches’ side of the growing camp. “I would have sliced his head off.”

“No one said delegating was easy.”

“Clearly,” the Second crossed her arms as they both stared at the setting sun. “I’m glad it’s you.”

“What?”

“Our Queen, I’m glad it’s you.” She smiled. “I wouldn’t serve anyone else.”

Touched, but not showing it, Manon nodded. “I have hope that the First Hand will at least tolerate this alliance.”

“Well, only if your little princeling shows up.” A pause. “Where is Dorian?”

“I don’t know,” Manon replied. She hadn’t seen him since the day before and even then it had been barely a glance. They had been too busy to even talk and Manon was a little annoyed at how that made her feel.

A steady wing beat caught their attention and the two Blackbeaks moved toward a big enough area as Sorrel’s bull dropped down. The rider herself remained strapped. “The King of Adarlan is still missing. A cook and a lookout both said they last saw him leaving the camp through the east with you.”

What? “When was this?”

“About two hours ago.”

Manon and Asterin turned to each other. “We were with the Crochan two hours ago.”

“Then who did they see?” Sorrel wondered.

A shiver went through Manon, so fierce she swayed. The memory assaulted her like a punch to the gut. _‘I do wonder what it would be like. To see the world through your pretty eyes. To touch a human man.’_

Teeth bared, the Queen faced her Third. “Take me to the exact spot that he was last seen.”

…

Dorian awoke to searing pain, specifically his back, but it was constant throughout his whole body. He groaned, but realized quickly that he was not alone. Containing his scream, the King tried to get away, but he was tightly coiled into what he could only assume was web, only his head sticking out from the top.

A large spider, larger than the biggest wyvern he had seen, loomed above him. The many eyes trained on him, probably thinking from which end of him it would start eating. He could tell there were more than this singular spider, and Dorian wondered what they were waiting for.

“Hello, human king.”

 Dorian struggled, but his efforts were fruitless, even his magic had dwindled due to the web. It was hard to breathe too. He tried to remember what had happened. The tendrils sprouting from what he knew now had not been Manon, turning into long legs as he stared in shock. A calculated hit from the back and he had been knocked out before his magic could even kick in.

He had been too surprised to concentrate enough, instinct having abandoned him. And now this…problem.

“Where am I?”

The spider hissed. “A cave, _my_ cave.”

“Are you going to eat me?”

The other spiders didn’t seem to like that and Dorian bit back his shriek at the feel of tiny legs climbing up his feet. “Not unless what has been owed is not paid.”

“You said a white-haired witch owed you something?”

“ _Ten yards_!” The thing screeched, and the emotion that coursed through it seemed to spring it into a walk as it climbed upon the walls in a fit of rage.

“Ten yards of what?” Dorian managed to ask, keeping the conversation going as he dug into his magic, looking to wake it up.

“ **Silk** ,” it seethed. “The finest in the world. And she _did not pay_!”

Oh.

Spider silk. Not just any, since Dorian was sure these were stygian spiders. That was why Abraxos’ wings shimmered in certain lighting. Manon had stolen the silk it seems, and the spiders were seeking revenge. “How did she steal it?” He wondered aloud, knowing of the stories. Of how these spiders killed whomever even tried tricking them.

“The beast she has as a mount! She tricked us!” The sounds of the other spiders made goosebumps appear on Dorian’s skin and for a moment he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

Manon stole the silk. Stole it from mythical beasts of legend that had powers beyond what even the Fae knew about. Did she expect the retaliation or had Manon just believe she would not be found? Burying the anger down because it was her fault he was here now, he spoke. “So you want the silk back?”

The spider stopped it’s pacing, it’s eyes training on him once more. Dorian gulped as it leaned down close. “No, that silk is ruined.”

“Then what do you want?” He managed to ask, his voice barely a whisper.

“What had been offered on the day of the deal.”

“And what did she offer?”

The spider merely stared…and Dorian was sure Manon would not agree to whatever it was she offered, not for him or anyone else. He just hoped his magic was enough.

…

“The trail ends here,” Sorrel said as she, Manon, and Asterin stood before an uprooted tree at the base of the mountain to the east of their camp. The tree was freshly taken down and there were marks all over the ground, marks she knew were made by very large spiders.

“I don’t understand,” Asterin muttered as she observed the slashes on the ground. “What made these?”

The Queen closed her eyes. How stupid had she been? She hadn’t made sure the spiders were dead, had just let them fall and ran away. Of course they’d search for her. Not knowing her name wasn’t a deterrent. Especially not when word had gone out that white-haired Crochan Queen had suddenly appeared in the war against the Valg.

And now Dorian had paid for her actions.

“Manon.” The witch opened her eyes and stared at the gold-flecked ones of her Second. “Do you know what made these?”

Feeling as though the world would swallow her whole, Manon looked away. This was a conversation she did not want to have with her sentinels, at least not in this way and when emotions were so high. “You’re hiding something,” Sorrel said, crossing her arms. “Talk, Manon.”

The Queen leaned back against a large birch tree. “Abraxos couldn’t fly the Crossing, I noticed it almost as soon as I rode him the first time. I knew he needed something on his wings, a reinforcement, or else he wouldn’t make it.”

The intense look on her sentinels faces almost made her flinch. “What did you get him?” Asterin asked.

“Stygian spider silk.”

“What?!”

“Stygian spider silk?”

Manon ignored their hollering. “I went to the ashen mountains after a large storm hit and found the spiders there. After some…conversation, I managed to steal the silk while Abraxos sent them down the mountain. I thought they were dead.”

“But you didn’t check,” Sorrel challenged.

“No, I did not.”

Asterin gave her a hurt look, but it morphed into a calculated one as she spoke. “How much did you take?”

Here we go, Manon thought. “Ten yards.”

While Asterin yelled out another ‘what!?’ Sorrel sauntered toward her Queen. “Ten yards? You stole _ten yards of stygian spider silk_ from an actual Stygian spider?” Manon let her get right up on her face. “And you were ‘surprised’ to see them take revenge?”

“I was busy with…other things,” the witch replied lamely.

“I swear that if your next stupid decision doesn’t kill you, I will,” Asterin interrupted, also getting in her personal space.

The Queen didn’t answer, but her glare was enough for Sorrel to intervene. “We give the silk back.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Manon replied, her voice lower than her sentinels.

“She’s right,” the Second said, “they don’t take back silk, never mind if it was stolen or given.”

“What did you offer for it, Manon?” The mentioned one stayed quiet and her sentinels looked at each other. “What did you offer the spiders in exchange for ten yards of silk, my Queen?”

“I didn’t offer them anything,” she said, sounding like a witchling.

“Then what did they ask for?” Asterin questioned. “What did you say yes to?”

Manon merely stayed quiet.

…

“He was taken by large spiders?”

Manon nodded while Asterin rubbed at her face in exasperation.

The King’s Hand turned to the Captain who gave nothing away with her expression. “And how are you so sure he was taken by these spiders?”

The Queen tried to ignore the stares on her as she spoke. “We followed a trail to the base of the mountain east of here. My sentinels found a cave the spiders are staying in.”

“But how do you _know_ he’s there?”

“The spider matron can shapeshift. Your King was spotted leaving the camp with one of them,” Sorrel said.

“Why would he follow a spider? Who was it imitating that he willingly followed a monster into the forest?”

The silence was jarring as no one answered his question. Manon could feel her sentinels’ gold flecked eyes on her. Chaol would know soon enough either way. “The spider was imitating me.”

Those dark eyes widened and then narrowed into slits. “Why would he follow _you_?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Asterin intervened, clearly sensing the tension rising between the two. “Every second wasted here is a second your King remains in peril.”

The First Hand kept his eyes on Manon, calculation dancing in his gaze. But whatever he was thinking was overshadowed by the current situation. “Go on then, take us there.”

…

The trek up the mountain was short and quick, but it felt like hours to Manon who was busy both with worrying about Dorian and avoiding Chaol’s gaze from atop Sorrel’s wyvern. As with the ashen mountains she visited once, the terrain was full of spider webs, nothing like the spider silk on Abraxos’ wings, but a death trap for animals foolish enough to venture through either way. Many eyes followed them as they made their way above the trees.

The five wyverns and the people they carried all dropped down unto the opening of a large cave, the edges of which were covered in more web, making the interior darker by default. Manon signaled her sentinels, and while Chaol remained strapped to Sorrel’s bull because of his injury, the rest settled in front of the cave.

“Ah, the thief finally comes.”

As before, Manon’s grip on Wing Cleaver tightened while she narrowed her eyes at the large spider still halfway inside the cave opening. “Where is the King?” She asked, keeping her face calm and bored.

The spider glanced at the gathered with a quick look. “I will only delegate with you, Blackbeak. The rest must leave.” When shouts of disapproval were thrown at her, the spider merely hissed. “The blue-eyed king will die if all but the white-haired witch do not leave.”

Manon turned to her Second who shook her head. Sorrel snarled, “Give us what we want, spider, and we’ll let you live.”

A hiss broke out from the trees around them and a number of spiders, smaller than the matron but bigger than a human man, peeked through, their long legs flashing in the sunlight threateningly. Manon felt Abraxos’ growl mix in with the other wyverns and her sentinels all palmed their weapons. The Captain of the Guard, stepped forward. “How about we make a deal?”

Manon flinched, but she couldn’t speak before the spider matron did. “A deal, human woman? A deal had already been made.”

A few of the spider sentinels gained ground and Manon gripped Wind Cleaver tightly. “Everyone,” she called, her voice loud and clear. The voice of a Queen. “Leave us.”

The silence that spread was loud in the Queen’s ears and the spider matron spoke. “Listen to the witch or the King dies.”

There was not much to do but obey and after some internal debacle, everyone but Manon had flown off, including a very upset Abraxos. Still, Manon knew her sentinels were not far off, flying to a spot where the wind couldn’t betray their scent. Abraxos on the other hand, remained close, gliding far above them.

The spider didn’t seem to care about the wyvern as she spoke. “Bring the man.”

Manon tensed further as she watched the spider sentinels bring out a man-sized webbed cocoon. The witch moved a step, but the spider matron placed a large leg on the web, right above Dorian’s chest. The mentioned one was squinting at the sunlight, his hair a mess, but seeming healthy overall. He turned to her and the witch breathed out at the disapproval there, his head the only thing free of web.

He knew.

He knew what she had agreed to bargain the silk for.

“Now, for our deal, witch.” Manon glared at the spider, who merely stared back. “I had heard of a white-haired Queen making her rounds on the border of Terrassen. Imagine our surprise when it was revealed to be you, oath-breaker.”

Manon shrugged, looking untroubled at the imminent danger these spiders posed. “The deal involves only us, let the man go.”

“Ah, but we both know you do not honor your arrangements, Blackbeak. It is clear your soul is not as beautiful as your face.” The spider hissed, as if it was laughing. “Speaking of your face…” A long leg was pointed in her direction, “you owe me your beauty.”

“Let him go first and I’ll let you have it.”

Another hiss-like laugh. “Oh no, the deal was your beauty for ten yards of silk, not a human king.”

Manon growled, but didn’t fail to notice how the spiders in the tree line bristled. She had to think, to buy herself time. “What if I give you more?”

“More than your beauty?” The spider taunted, its eight eyes blinking at the same time.

“Yes, in exchange for the King.”

The spider’s body jumped as it moved an inch forward. “Something more? What could you offer me that is worth a human life, Witch-Queen?”

Manon swallowed nervously, her grip on Wing Cleaver making her whole arm ache. She met Dorian’s gaze, but his own was unreadable…like he wasn’t truly focusing on her, but on something else. Fighting every instinct in her blood, Manon took in a breath. “My immortality.” The spiders swayed in obvious excitement. Unlike the Fae and most witches, Stygian Spiders were not immortal, which was why the spider matron took years off lifespans whenever she was in need of more time. No one had ever offered their immortality before, however.

The spider matron went still for a few moments and Manon refused to meet the King’s eyes when the creature stepped over him. “An Ironteeth witch would trade her beauty _and_ immortality for a _mortal man_?” A sound that could be described as the spider equivalent of a snicker came out of the spider’s jaws. “Is this what they call love?”

The words slammed into Manon, making her twitch, but neither the witch or the spider could say anything as a blinding light filled the area. As the Blackbeak closed her eyes, Abraxos roared, and it took but a few seconds for Manon to orient herself. Squinting at the blue light, Manon used her other senses to swing her cleaver, taking out spiders that had burst into the front of the cave but were screeching at the brightness.

A strong wind, cold and loud, slammed into her, but not before the witch had successfully slashed her cleaver clean through the matron’s two front legs. As the spider shrieked the light died down and Manon let the invisible force pull her back as a pillar of ice burst through the ground and impaled the spider right through its middle. Whatever power the spider matron had gained over the many years it had lived meant nothing in the face of raw magic.

While the spider matron twitched and bellowed, Manon took out a trio of sentinels before she spotted Dorian. He met her gaze, “call Abraxos!”

The Queen concentrated on the enemies in front of her, swinging her cleaver like a madwoman and catching a break for long enough to whistle. The wyvern’s cry pierced the air above her and Manon wasted no time to stop and wonder how many spiders were left as Abraxos slammed into two as he landed, bursting their innards everywhere.

She was about to call for Dorian when he appeared next to her, already pulling at her arm to hurry. They jumped on Abraxos without strapping in and Manon gripped the reigns as the King held unto her waist. “Go! Go!”

With a roar Abraxos launched into the air, high enough that even the nimblest spiders couldn’t reach him by jumping up. As the duo caught their breath, they watched the spiders try to get them before finally beginning to dissipate, and the reason for it was revealed soon enough. In the entrance of the cave, still half in darkness, the spider matron lay dead, still perforated by the King’s ice pillar.

Manon felt Dorian lean his head into her back tiredly, his arms still tight around her. “Tell me you don’t owe anyone else your beauty or something similar.”

As the other wyverns flew toward them, Manon let out a laugh. 


	5. Compromised

It was a crisp, clear morning when Chaol Westfall, First Hand of the King of Adarlan and former Captain of the Guard exited his tent and, cane in hand, slowly walked toward the improvised mess hall on the center of their army camp. With his arrival and the support of the generals from the south, the army was ready to go at first daylight tomorrow. Already there were soldiers packing up for the upcoming battle. Once the troops from their side joined up with the main army at Oakwald, they would be ready to take on Erawan.

At the mess hall, Chaol narrowed his eyes when he noticed the witches on a number of tables in the center. “At least they’re on our side,” Nesryn Faliq muttered as she sat next to Chaol, hot plates of food in hand.

The First Hand kept his thoughts to himself, all of them on the negative spectrum since he heard there were witches among their ranks. And after the mess one week ago with the Stygian Spiders, his trust for them plummeted and it had been abysmal before. And now one of them was somehow a Queen? Ridiculous.

He ate with a scowl at the mere thought of it all. Chaol could not wait until this war was over so he didn’t have to see a single witch again for the rest of his life. Especially not that beautiful white-haired one. He’d rather skin himself alive before having to recognize her as a Queen.

“Where is Dorian?” He wondered, turning to Nesryn in question.

“I take it still in his tent.”

“Why is he still in his tent? We have a lot of work to do today.” There needed to be a last count of troops before they left, and the first legions would leave before the sun rose to gain time.

As Chaol was done with his breakfast, two of the generals he brought with him from the south of the continent asked for a briefing with the King, the same King that had still not shown up to the mess hall. With a courteous nod, because these generals were testy, Chaol made sure to let them know a meeting would happen within the hour.

As such, the grumpy First Hand limped as fast as he could toward the King’s tent. The guards stationed at the front of it bowed and stepped aside and Chaol went inside the tent in growing rage. His eyes took in the empty main area of the canvas, already preparing a speech on why war demanded vigilance and responsibility and that sleeping in was **not** the way to inspire and gain respects from his troops.

Stepping toward the large sheet that covered the bedroom area of the tent, Chaol pulled it off the pole at the top, taking in a breath in preparation for the scolding he was about to unleash-

He stopped.

On a cot too small for two people where the King of Adarlan himself, still fast asleep, his head turned toward the side facing an equally dormant witch, her body half over Dorian’s, his hand on the small of her back and her own draped around his chests-those iron nails too close to the King’s neck for comfort.

It did not take a genius to figure out what this was, especially since they were both clearly naked under a flimsy sheet that was falling off the side. All these thoughts and observations went through Chaol’s head as the sheet he pulled dropped to the floor, the sound causing the occupants on the cot to wake.

The First Hand cursed heavily and Dorian startled, yelling out a ‘Chaol!’ while at the same time going for the sheet in an effort to cover himself-no, to cover the witch. “I can’t believe this,” the former Captain said as he gave them both a disgusted look.

Dorian flinched as if hurt by the words, or maybe the glare, Chaol didn’t care. “Chaol-”

“Are you insane?” The man hissed.

“I can explain-”

“Explain?” Chaol shot back while the witch only stared at them both. “You think I don’t know what’s going on?”

Dorian huffed, flustered. “Listen,” he pleaded and Chaol had the urge to puke when he noticed the King’s hand holding unto the witch’s, as if he needed support. As if she could give it to him. “Let’s talk about this.”

“You,” Chaol ordered, pointing at the monster next to his King, “get out right now.” He didn’t care that she wasn’t dressed, didn’t hold any respect for her at all.

She growled at him, baring those iron teeth. Chaol placed a hand on his sword. She would kill him in no time, especially in his current state, but he’d make sure to land some choice blows before he went.

Dorian placed himself between them, still sitting up on the cot. “Both of you, stop it.”

“I don’t know what trash she’s fed you, but you know better than this.”

Those iron teeth flashed in the morning light. “If I had wanted to kill him I would have.”

Chaol faced the witch, his fury barely contained as he spoke. “If you even try to hurt him I’ll make sure you beg for death.” He was already contemplating of ways to make her suffer for even daring to target Dorian this way.

“I’d like to see you try-”

“Stop,” the King called, his blue eyes right on Chaol. It was an order, but the man was already shaking his head. After the hard look was given, Dorian turned to the witch. “Stop, alright?” Those gold eyes were still fixed on Chaol, but she slowly looked back at Dorian. Incredibly, she stayed silent.

“This-” Chaol started.

“-will be taken care of later,” Dorian cut in, “I’ll find you.”

“The southern generals are expecting a meeting in half an hour.”

“I’ll meet you outside in fifteen minutes.” When Chaol stayed where he was, his dark eyes still spelling out murder on the witch Dorian spoke again. “Chaol.”

“Ten minutes,” he spat and the scoff that came from the witch made him imagine quite a number of bloody scenarios, mainly one which involved beheading and burning.

Dorian held her arm, as if he could stop her from jumping out of the cot and sinking her teeth into Chaol’s neck, much like when they first met. “Fine, ten minutes,” the King said.

Chaol merely turned on his heel and stomped out, his limp barely showing over the storm in his head.

…

“Do you have a death wish?”

Dorian Havilliard held back his groan as he faced off with his First Hand outside his tent. This was not the way he had planned on telling Chaol about his new…commitments. And Manon’s response at being woken up and threatened did not help the cause with either of them finding any common ground. She didn’t even talk to Dorian when Chaol left and after they both dressed he tentatively asked if he would see her at dinner like they had planned the night before. Manon had stared at him with an unreadable look on her face and he wasn’t sure if it meant that whatever they had was now ruined. Just thinking about it made his chest tighten and the realization that what he felt for her was maybe more than just lust was making him nervous.

“Dorian?”

“I’m with Manon, yes,” he admitted readily, also putting to rest the question of if it was a onetime thing. Considering they sought each other out regularly and for the past week had slept in each other’s cots, they certainly were heading toward being more than casual lovers.

“With?” Chaol repeated, the hate in his voice unhinged and loud. “What does that mean exactly?”

Dorian stared straight ahead, nodding to soldiers who bowed and trying not to step into the muck as they walked. He lowered his voice, “I know you’re surprised.”

“Surprised?” Chaol yelled and when people turned to look at them, he rubbed at his face and leaned in closer. “First an assassin and now a bloodthirsty witch? You think I’m ‘surprised?” Chaol made a grab for his hand, “Dorian, I’m worried for you.”

“This isn’t the same thing as with Celeana,” because it had been the assassin, not the Queen, that he had been interested in. “That was no more than a…” he thought about it, “crush.” But he regretted saying the word as soon as it left his lips, if only because he acknowledged that he might feel something…different for Manon.

“And what is this then?” Chaol asked, also catching the significance of what he said. “You think a witch like that is even capable of love? You think she feels the same way you think you do?” The words burned through Dorian’s stomach and crawled up his chest. “She’s using you. That’s what they’re bred to do.”

“You don’t know her.”

The look on Chaol’s face made Dorian feel like a child, but the former Captain hadn’t seen or heard what had happened a week ago, what Manon had offered up in exchange for the King’s safety. “And you think you do?” He asked back, the anger in his voice diminishing to into something darker, something Dorian knew he didn’t want to mess with.

“This evening we’re having dinner together in my tent,” Dorian told him. “Come eat with us and bring Nesryn with you.”

Chaol stopped as if in shock, but his face only betrayed complete disbelief. “I’d rather slowly bleed to death on the battlefield.”

Dorian closed his eyes for a moment. “I know this isn’t what you want.”

“Clearly.”

“But,” the King added, sending a pointed look to his best friend. “I chose this, and you’re going to have to deal with it.” He raised his hand when Chaol was about to refute. “Which means no death threats, no insults, and no fights.”

“I don’t trust her and I never will.”

“I don’t care,” Dorian countered, making Chaol flinch back. “But you will _have_ to tolerate her,” he ordered, “at least for now.”

The First Hand breathed in and out for a few moments. “I’m not advocating for your stupid decisions, and I’m not going to ‘dinner’ with a monster, but I can’t control what you do.” Chaol leaned into his cane, like the walk to the war tent was causing him to tire. “But let me tell you something, Dorian. Just know, that when she breaks your heart, you know I’ll still be there to pick up the pieces.”

The man stepped away, his dark eyes fixed on the horizon. “Don’t let all this blind you from what truly matters.” They were at war, and Dorian was constantly reminded of it.

“It won’t,” he promised. “Now let’s put this on hold and talk to those generals.”

“So be it, Your Highness.”


	6. Nine Weeks

Manon found out on a stormy day in a dirty farmhouse while searching out the last of the ilken that had managed to escape the war with Erawan a good twelve years ago. Twelve years of rebuilding countries, establishing borders, rekindling old alliances, and forming new ones.

With Wind Cleaver in one hand and her iron nails poised to strike on the other, Manon had paused when the ilken she had been hunting sniffed the air, those sunken dark eyes narrowing in recognition, and perhaps some deep-sense of regret. “You,” the monster had muttered, the killing intent being suppressed from a seemingly supernatural force, something above the darkness within it.

Manon had paused.

“You carry a witchling.”

The witch couldn’t know if the creature spoke truth, but the tone of voice, the posture the ilken had taken, the way it had lowered its unnatural claws. The storm outside pounded against the worn wooden boards, the thundering as heavy as the one echoing in Manon’s heart. Her hand trembled as the ilken tilted its head, the enlarged nostrils sniffing again.

“Yes,” it breathed, “your belly will begin to grow soon, perhaps already.”

The thud was soft in comparison to the sound outside, to the sound in Manon’s head. The white-haired witch stared at the beheaded corpse for an indefinite amount of time, water, dirt, and blood dripping from her flying leathers. Did the ilken speak the truth? Another question rose above that one. Why would it lie?

“Manon.”

The witch swallowed back the flurry of inexplicable emotions coursing through her, morphing into the cool ice her sentinels were used too. “We’re done here,” she told Asterin as the blonde looked over her shoulder.

“The whole area is clear,” Manon was told, “we’re good to move on.”

The Queen nodded, cleaning Wing Cleaver on the old hay on the ground, before stepping toward the outside. “Hey.” Manon didn’t turn, but she felt Asterin near. “Is everything alright?”

Manon didn’t speak immediately, but she made no move to leave either. “The ilken spoke to me,” she admitted.

They both watched the rain. “What did it say?”

Manon shifted her blade, if only for something to do, something to tie her to this realm, to keep her grounded. “Do you believe their sense of smell to be as good as the Fae’s?”

She didn’t look at Asterin, couldn’t bare to see the possible realization on her beautiful, wild face. “In what sense?”

The Queen shook her head and though her Second knew she was hiding something, Asterin did not question. Soon they were both riding atop their wyverns and only when Manon was high up in the sky and sure none of her sentinels were watching…did she touch over the spot on her stomach.

…

It was not easy to trick Asterin and Sorrel to let Manon wander the Crochan village alone, but with a few choice words and ordering them to wait with the wyverns, Manon was granted a grand total of thirty minutes of alone time. She had used the excuse of looking less threatening when she was alone, and her Second and Third begrudgingly admitted that three Ironteeth witches made an impact when it came to talking peace with their former sworn enemies. Manon, however, was not going to meet up with the Crochan leader like she said she would. No, the golden eyed witch was about to do something very different.

The Queen took odd turns and sneaked across roofs in an effort to lose any trackers and, after she sniffed the air, she was finally confident enough to make it to a small stone hut at the edge of town. She waited behind the nearby tree-line as two Crochan witches walked out of the hovel door and Manon felt the shiver of…something coarse through her as she noticed one of them was heavily pregnant.

It took her no time to walk the worn stone path toward the hut and once inside, she was bold enough to close the door behind her, even when it had no visible locks.

“Do you think this is a place where you can just barge in and-oh.” The witch in front of Manon was young, barely past her first bleeding with wide brown eyes and thick curly hair that fell to her waist. An apprentice, if the simple tunic and the way she carried an empty tray meant anything. “You-you’re-” Those big eyes only widened and Manon didn’t want to waste time with the witchling.

“Where is the healer?”

The girl only stared, her eyes going up and down along Manon and back up, not in interest, but in awe. A voice, older and rich, filtered through from the back room. “Who is it, Natasha?”

The witchling dropped her tray, but when Manon only stared, she gave a hasty apology, picked it up and ran to the back. The Queen looked around the room, noting the cluttered desk in front of the door, the many boxes and trinkets spaced out. Messy but clean, as if the owner enjoyed the comfort of controlled chaos.

Manon caught the tail end of a ‘it’s the Queen!’ that she huffed at. Even after a decade of ruling the southern half of the Wastes, most witches had never laid eyes on her and she knew that many spoke of her in exaggerated tones of power and glory she didn’t have nor deserve.

It took but a moment for an older witch to walk through the open doorway and Manon didn’t let her expression change as the Crochan surveyed her closely. “Your Majesty,” she said, her blonde hair turning gray at the roots, “this is…a surprise.”

Those tree bark-colored eyes were laced with deep knowledge and Manon knew this witch was older than her, perhaps as old as the witch wars themselves. “It is said you are the best healer in the Wastes.”

A raise of a delicate eyebrow. “I’m flattered, but I would assume my Queen would have competent healers at the ready.”

“I have also heard you are…discreet.”

The Crochan healer, dressed in a simple earth colored tunic and worn boots, tilted her head. “Is Your Majesty sick?”

“What is your name?” Though Manon had heard much about the healer of this village, she had always been called by different names, most no doubt fabrications to make her seem grander than she was. The Queen had expected the witch to be more prideful, with some of the legends that preceded her.

“I am Camila, at your service if you so need it.”

Gold eyes narrowed. “What we speak of will not leave this place you call home, is that clear?”

Manon heard Natasha squeak at the threat, but Camila didn’t so much as blink. “Tell me what ails you, my Queen. My work is always…private.” The air around them was ripe with honesty, but Manon still glanced at the apprentice cowering against the doorframe. “Natasha is as trustworthy as any of your sentinels, you may trust her.”

It took the Queen some time before she spoke, gauging how true they were being. She did not trust them, but at this point, she had not much of a choice. “I wish to know if I am pregnant.”

The witchling gasped, but Camila only nodded. The older witch went for her desk and drew out an old piece of wood with some string attached to it. A sign. One she placed on the entry door, to signal she did not want any visitors for the time being. “When was your last cycle?”

“Three months ago.” Witch cycles were different than humans. Every four or five months instead of once every month. They were also notorious for being inconsistent and not at all indicating of whether or not a witch carried a witchling.

She asked a number of other questions, all of which Manon answered stiffly, her gold eyes moving back and forth between Natasha and Camila.

“What gave you the idea that you were pregnant?”

Manon wanted to bare her teeth at the inquires, but she knew these questions meant more than just intrusiveness. “I was hunting creatures left over from the war that call themselves ilken. One of them made a comment.”

Camila’s brow furrowed. “Come, lie down on this cot and we will see if your suspicions run true.”

The second shiver of…something went through Manon and for a moment she didn’t move. She and Dorian had stopped relying on tonics four years ago, not because they necessarily wanted children, but because having one wouldn’t be unwanted. If she _were_ pregnant… 

“Your Majesty,” Manon looked up at the healer, who was staring at her with an unreadable look, “there is no point in troubling oneself with the ‘what ifs.’ The best course of action is knowing for sure.”

The Queen only walked toward the adjacent room, decorated similarly to the first one, but with a bed and a nightstand next to it. After being told to lie down and having her shirt lifted up, Camila took a metal container from a drawer with a missing hinge and opened the top to reveal a clear jam-like substance inside. “This will help me feel for the witchling,” she paused, “if there is one.”

Manon looked down at her stomach, flat and lean with muscle, the scar stark against the pale skin. It did not look at all like she was carrying a witchling. “Do what you must.”

Camila nodded and signaled for her apprentice to close the door, plunging the room into near darkness. Slowly those experienced hands, soft from a life without combat, spread the substance over Manon’s lower abdomen.

“Now,” the healer muttered, “we must be very quiet.”

Manon had no trouble following the command and the apprentice merely stared as Camila slowly rubbed circles over the taunt skin, her head listing to the side as if she were listening instead of feeling. The Queen could feel the tension rising as anticipation curled in her chest.

She had never imagined herself as a mother. It had been easy to repeat and recite what she had been taught. Having a witchling was the greatest honor and her grandmother had told her many a time of the importance of continuing their bloodline despite the fact that she had also ordered her granddaughter _not_ to get pregnant.

‘Not yet,’ she would be told, ‘not until we are Queens.’

Well, one of them had already been one.

But it had seemed like hundreds of years away from happening, and to have it possibly become a reality made everything seem much faster than it really was.

Manon closed her eyes tight, trying to control her erratic heartbeat as Camila kept up her examination, the healer’s hands randomly stopping at certain points before moving again. A moment later, an eternity later, the Crochan healer finally lifted her hands. “Hm.”

Manon wanted to rip out her throat for appearing unconcerned, but instead she asked, “well?”

“Nine weeks,” Camila said calmly while she cleaned Manon’s stomach and her hands with a towel.

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. “What?”

“My estimate is that you are nine weeks along and I’ll have you know, Your Majesty, that I have an impressive record of correctly timing gestation periods.”

The Blackbeak didn’t know what to do with the information, didn’t know where to place her hands or what to say or how to act. “I’m…I’m pregnant?” She breathed with a voice that did not sound like her own.

Camila snapped her fingers and Natasha went outside to fetch something Manon did not care to know. “Yes, you are.” The tightening in her chest spread to her stomach.

A witchling.

She was carrying a witchling.

“Most come to me when they are already showing or having acute symptoms. You have neither, a rarity.”

Everything felt heavy and light at the same time, but the Queen still noticed the apprentice rushing back into the small room. At the same time, Camila was back on her feet, patting Manon’s back. “Breathe, slowly.” That didn’t help and the healer brought up something. A bucket. “If you feel sick, do it in the bucket. I don’t want to clean my floors for the second time today.”

Natasha clicked her tongue like she had been the one tasked with the cleaning.

Manon wasted no time and she grabbed the bucket and puked her lunch, breakfast and last night’s dinner, perhaps more than that. As she did so, Camila ordered her apprentice to get more things. “Let it all out now, Your Majesty. You’d be surprised with how many witches go through this when they first find out, especially the Ironteeth.”

Manon finally lifted her head and Camila took the bucket from her with a professional look. “You said you were fighting creatures left off from the war?” The Queen nodded, if only to distract herself. “You should abstain from all types of combat and I would like to give you a more thorough examination and talk to you about a diet.”

“Diet?” Manon repeated. It was as if she had reverted to a witchling herself.

Natasha came back as Camila spoke. “Yes, witch pregnancies are full of risks, having a balanced diet helps immensely with keeping a pregnancy viable.” Noting how pale Manon was, the healer handed her a cup of water, which she drank slowly. “I would like to speak with your usual healer-”

“I don’t have one,” Manon responded meekly. A witchling…

“You are our Queen and yet you have no personal healer?” The Blackbeak turned to her with a raised eyebrow, more at the tone of her voice than the question. “As you have come here, I now feel it is my responsibility to make sure you and your heir will remain healthy.”

It took Manon some time, but she was gradually regaining her usual demeanor. “I will be fine.”

Camila scoffed. “My Queen, you are with a witchling, it is not all about _you_ now.”

“I am well aware of that,” the Blackbeak snapped. “Tell me what I need to know.”

The expression on Camila’s face was almost comical. “You might be Queen, but you are clueless when it comes to your health and the health of the witchling you carry. If you wish to heighten the possibilities of survival you _must_ come back to me.”

Manon considered it. “Fine, I will stay in this town tonight and come speak with you tomorrow.” The healer nodded and Manon stood up. “As we agreed upon earlier, this remains between us.”

A bow was her answer. “As you wish.”

The Queen nodded back and soon she was out of the room and through the front door of the hut. Manon internally cursed as she lay eyes on what awaited her on the stone path, or rather, who.

“My Lady,” Asterin muttered as her eyes took in the healer and the apprentice behind Manon. Sorrel crossed her arms next to her, her piercing gaze on her Queen.

Manon made no show of being surprised and even went so far as to walk right past her sentinels as if this had all been planned. “My business is done here, let’s go.”

To their credit, her sentinels kept their thoughts to themselves until they were out of town and on the path to where the wyverns were waiting. “Why were you at the healer’s house, Manon?”

It did not surprise the white-haired witch that Asterin was the one who spoke. “I don’t have to tell you why I do the things I do.”

A growl from Sorrel, but her Second was the one who responded. “Do **not** do that.”

“Do what?”

“Keep us out,” Asterin said.

“Are you sick?” Sorrel asked, her voice lower than the witch next to her.

Manon wanted to bare her teeth, but the concern in her sentinels’ eyes was genuine and the Queen had promised herself to be more open and trusting. She stopped, and like the soldiers they were, Asterin and Sorrel stopped with her. “The last ilken we hunted, it did not fight back when I found it in that old barn,” she explained.

“Why not?” Asterin asked.

Manon crossed her arms. “It scented me.”

“Scented what?” Her Second pried.

Manon stared right at Asterin, the wildfire to her ice. “It told me I was pregnant.”

Asterin stepped back like she had been hit while Sorrel did the opposite, stepping toward Manon. “What did the healer tell you?” Her Third asked.

The white-haired witch turned away, swallowing as she said, “I’m nine weeks along, or so the healer said.”

Sorrel gaped, the stone, for once, cracking. “You’re pregnant?” She breathed while Asterin swayed on her feet, a slender hand going to her mouth.

“Yes.”

Suddenly there were hands around her and Manon stiffed at the utter foreign nature of the act even though it was Asterin embracing her, a witch she had grown up with, a witch she cared for like…like a sister. “You’re pregnant,” the golden-haired witch said with a voice that shook. Manon didn’t move, looking at Sorrel in question. Her Third smiled, a small action, but meaningful, before making a wide action with her hands. Manon understood the message and she tentatively raised her own arms around her Second’s waist.

Asterin snorted as she pulled back, her hands on Manon’s shoulders. There were tears in her eyes as she spoke, “I think we need to work on your hugging skills, but that was a good try.”

Sorrel coughed to hide a chuckle and Manon glared at her. “What did the healer say?” Asterin asked, her voice betraying a mixture of emotions. Manon couldn’t begin to imagine what she felt, but they had talked it over in detail before, the fact that Manon had stopped taking tonics and what Asterin had gone through at the hands of their grandmother. There was one thing the Queen was certain off, she knew that above all, Asterin was happy for her.

“I agreed to speak with her tomorrow, but I am healthy, as is the witchling.”

Sorrel stepped forward, her eyes looking Manon over, as if making sure her Queen was truly as fit as she proclaimed. “You should not partake in any more fights, Manon.”

“Sorrel is right” Asterin cut in, “you must go to Adarlan or your castle here in the Wastes and remain there until your witchling is born.”

Manon blinked. “Whatever precautions _I_ decide to take will be discussed _after_ we speak with the healer tomorrow.”

Though Asterin narrowed her eyes in disapproval, they lit up in realization a moment later. “We?”

Manon smiled, an action she tried constantly to perfect, to make it feel as genuine as it was. “Yes, we. Unless you’d rather wait outside-”

“We’re going,” her Second said immediately, “we’re going,” she repeated, softer this time. Sorrel only bowed her head behind her in agreement.

…

Despite the fact that Manon had been aware of her condition for a good week and a half, it took her an infuriatingly long time to even attempt a trip toward Rifthold due to a mixture of very bad weather conditions and her own royal businesses. Even still, the impatience she felt was one-sided, as Dorian did not expect her back until the end of the next month. The news of her pregnancy certainly changed things and she was still to decide how or where exactly she would spend the coming months.

Abraxos landed gracefully in the castle courtyard, his head shaking as he curled his wings and lowered his lean body unto the ground. It was as if he knew being careful was mandatory, and though Manon didn’t fully understand _how_ he could tell, she still patted his leathery neck in silent thanks. The happy huff he gave her in reply made her smile.

The Crochan Queen was quick to unstrap and drop down into the grass, her eyes taking in the rolling clouds with a glare. It seems like the conditions would only worsen.

She turned to Abraxos and sent him to the wyvern stables to be unsaddled, the stablemen already waiting outside. Manon walked toward the eastern entrance of the castle, the closest to where she had landed, and was surprised to see the Captain of the Guard standing under the decorated archway. “Your Majesty.”

Manon gave a nod in acknowledgement. “Captain, interesting to see you here.”

“Yes, well,” Nesryn sighed, “the weather has been terrible recently so the King has ordered the guard to remain in the city until it clears.”

“Where _is_ the King?”

“In a meeting with the Duke and Duchess of Impalle. I’m not sure how long it will last, but they have been in the court room for a few hours now.”

Once again, impatience roiled in her gut and Manon tried not to let her heavy displeasure show. She had waited more than a week to see him, she could wait a few more hours. “I’ll leave him to it,” she decided, “thank you.”

Faliq bowed low and soon Manon was alone in the King’s series of chambers, pacing and watching the clock with a deep frown. It was still early, Camila had told her. There was still a chance that she would lose the witchling. Twelve weeks marked a checkpoint, a safe-zone where the possibilities of miscarriage dropped. Manon did not want to think of it, of losing a witchling she had just begun to love. She couldn’t imagine how Asterin had felt, especially now when she knew what it felt like to **_carry_**.  

“Manon?”

The voice made her flinch and the Queen’s hand dropped from where she had it resting on her belly. Her face morphed easily into a sly smirk. “Hello, princeling.”

The King’s face brightened and he smiled widely at her, the whites of his teeth showing in that way she always thought was handsome. “Hello, witchling.” Dorian wasted no time as he went for her and she responded to his desperate kiss readily, going so far as to hold his neck to keep from falling back. “I missed you,” he muttered against her lips and she let it coat her, fill her as she kissed him again.

“I have news,” she said.

Dorian backed away, but his hands remained on her waist. “Good or bad?”

Her expression faltered as worry filled her senses, but she shut it out with a thought. “Good, very good.” She just hoped it didn’t turn into a nightmare.

“Oh?”

She tapped at his chin, taking in the curiosity in his eyes as a good sign. “I’m pregnant.”

Dorian blinked. Once, twice…three times. “I’m-I’m sorry?”

“I went to a healer a little over a week ago. I’m almost twelve weeks along.”

A second the King was staring at her, his eyes wide and shocked, the next moment he was going down and she reached out to hold him before he hit the ground. Grunting at both his weight and the awkward position, Manon placed him as gently as she could on the floor.

He fainted.

The fool flat-out fainted.

She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, but all that escaped was an ‘of course’ she shook her head to. Softly she shook him, patting his cheek with her palm. “Dorian. Dorian, wake up.”

It took her a few seconds, but finally her pestering worked. The problem was that he sat up in a quick motion and she had been right in his path. Their heads bashed together with a bang and both flew back at the impact, Manon landing on her behind as she rubbed her head.

“Ow! Sorry!” He exclaimed as he rubbed his own forehead. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what-” He stopped as his eyes took her in. “Did you just say you were pregnant?” His voice cracked at the end, like he was about to cry.

Manon huffed. “Yes, and then you fainted.”

Dorian’s mouth flew open. “You’re pregnant?” He breathed and when she once again said yes, the tears began to fall. He went for her, wrapping his arms around her back and burying his head in the crook of her neck, repeating again and again the same words, the same question.

Manon let him have his time, smiling at his reaction, at how foolish they both must look, lying on the floor of his bedroom. He let her go softly, surveying her face and body in a quick motion. She could see how his magic reacted to the news, ice forming along the floor, but not affecting her. “You said,” he cleared his throat and wiped away his tears, “you said you went to a healer?”

The witch reached up and helped him out, gaining a smile when her fingers brushed against his face. “A Crochan witch,” she clarified, “that specializes in pregnancies. She said everything was fine and the only thing on order is a slight change in what I eat.”

Dorian drank it in like it was wine. “What kind of diet?” Manon explained it briefly and he was nodding along, his hair bobbing comically. “I’ll make sure the cook gets the specifications.” He grabbed her hand. “You’re not going back to fight, right?” It was phrased as a question, but she could see the conviction in his eyes.

“I haven’t decided-”

“Decided? Manon, witchling, love, darling, I love you, but you’re pregnant now. It’s dangerous when you fight.”

She gave him a long look. “I have no plans to risk any injury, but I do wish to continue seeing the Crochan healer I went to.”

Dorian breathed out in obvious relief and she frowned at the realization that he actually thought she would be going into battle so easily. Manon would not sit back in a bed all day, but she was surely not leaving all the heavy lifting to her sentinels. They were more than capable of taking most of the weight, but it was her duty and wish to be there with them when the time came. “Good,” the King muttered, “good.”

They were still on the floor and as the Queen made a move to get up, Dorian’s grip on her hand tightened. When she looked down at him she found him smiling again. “We’re going to be parents, witchling,” he whispered with excitement. “Imagine a little one running around behind you calling you Mama.”

Manon outright gawked at him, the words registering slowly. Mama. A little one calling her Mama. Dorian only laughed as he stood up and brought her against him once more, stroking her hair and kissing her cheeks and nose and forehead. “We’re going to be parents!”

She hugged him back, the practice she had done with Asterin and Vesta coming to good use as her princeling laughed and laughed.

“We’re going to be parents!”


	7. Love

Dorian Havilliard walked the steps up to the second floor of the relatively empty inn in deep thought. He was alone for once, since he was busy before the meeting of the armies only days away and as King and liaison, he had to be there for most meetings. Tired and starved for a certain white-haired witch, the sapphire eyed man opened the door to their shared room. His demeanor dropped when he noticed she wasn’t there, but it soon recovered when he took in the flying leathers on the chair-neatly piled up and folded.

The door to the bathing room was almost fully closed, but there was space in between the door and the wall. Dorian smirked, inching close and tilting his head at the sound of water.

An open door meant only one thing between them: an invitation.

With the sly grin still in place, the King softly pushed the door, opening it further.

Manon was there, lying on a filled tub and facing away from the entry, her hair down and floating half in the water, her pale shoulders flushed by the heat. Lust tickled up his legs and spread across his body in an instant, memories from the night before filling his mind. Perhaps she would be up to some more adventure in the warm water.

As soon as he was about to touch her, Dorian paused.

Something was off.

For one, she would have turned to look at him, as her sense of smell was almost as good as the Fae. Secondly, the steam floating up from the tub was unusually dense, suggesting _very_ hot water. Third, she was hunched over, her legs pulled up to her chest and her head resting on one of her knees.

“Manon?”

The witch didn’t answer, but her head moved. “Go away.”

That hurt more than he would be willing to admit. “Are you alright?” His concern was palpable.

She took her time with answering, something he’d gotten used to. Whenever she spoke, Manon was honest and direct, which meant she had to think before she uttered any words. “I want to be alone.”

Dorian would have gone, but the worry was too great, so he settled for something else. “The water is too hot; it looks like a hot spring in here.”

“Dorian.”

“Yes?”

She turned to him and his eyes widened at her face. For a moment he thought it was the heat that was causing the red on her cheeks and nose, but a look into her eyes said otherwise. They were rimmed with red and half mast, like she…like she had been crying…and for quite some time.

“Go away.”

Dorian didn’t know what to do, he’d never seen her like this before so he stayed put. “Witchling-”

Manon looked away again. “ _Leave_.”

“Something’s wrong,” he pried, “what happened?” He thought over the past few days, recounting their moments together and trying to find clues as to why she was like this now. The last time he saw her had been for breakfast that very morning and she had even smiled at a stupid joke he had said.

When she kept quiet, he dared step toward her and though she tensed and he heard her take a breath, she didn’t tell him to leave again. Dorian kneeled down next to the tub, the want and desire sucked out of his body. She looked as lost as he had felt the day he woke up without the collar around his neck. “You don’t have to talk to me, but I’m not going to leave you alone.”

Her gold eyes watched the water, the steam making him itch for the faucet. “Fine,” she muttered, but she still didn’t look at him.

Swallowing, the King awkwardly moved away, only to sit with his back against the side of the tub. They remained in silence for a while and he let out a sigh in relief when he heard the water stop. The steam cleared up quickly, and soon there was nothing but their breaths and the wind outside, clinking against the half open window in the main bedroom.

“I spoke to a Crochan today.” Dorian froze, not wanting to make a mistake and have her shut down again. “She called herself a…clinician. A sort of ‘therapist.”

The young man had never heard any of those words before. “What does that mean?” He asked quietly, his eyes on the towel rack.

“This witch studies books and speaks to many people of many places and different races, or so she and the others with her proclaimed.” A pause. “She invited to have a talk with me to ‘examine my state of mind.” Manon let out a sharp breath.

“I only agreed to speak with her because it would show good relations. That I was willing to speak to one of their self-proclaimed experts in a ‘new field of study…” her voice trailed off, as if entrapped by the memory.

“What did you talk about?” The conversation must have been significant for it to affect someone like Manon in this way.

He heard the water splash a bit, which meant she moved. “It started out simply enough, she asked me about myself and my Thirteen, giving snippets of her own life in between to seem like she wasn’t just inquiring. We spoke about her childhood and how she got into these ‘behavioral’ studies and then I told her about Abraxos and how the wyverns came about. She asked about my time in Morath and my relationship with Elide.”

Dorian finally turned to her, only to find her eyes on him. He nodded, urging her to continue. Miraculously, she did. “She asked about my grandmother…” her eyes narrowed, “and about the…methods she used when I was a witchling and later on, when I was her heir and Wing Leader.”

“This ‘therapist’ said something about that?”

Manon placed her fingers on the bridge of her nose, like her head hurt. “The Crochan took out a book and a series of papers with handwritten notes. She read out different statements and asked me if any applied to my grandmother. Most of them did, and when I asked the significance of the exercise she-” the words caught in her throat and Dorian was not about to let her cry.

“Hey, look at me.” When her beautiful gold eyes turned to him, the King spoke, “you don’t have to tell me anything else if this is hurting you.” He stood up and offered her his hand. “Why don’t we get you out of this tub and have our dinner in bed?”

The witch considered it, or so he hoped, before her fingers found his. She was cold to the touch, product of all the time she spent in the water. Quickly, he gave her towels, helping to dry her hair and watching her place on a robe with rapt interest. “I’ll go order the food and then I’ll come back, what do you want to do?”

Manon shrugged and Dorian felt the panic prick at his mind at her lack of expression. The ice she was usually filled with had melted away into a dry husk, as if she had burst and was now empty of all emotion. He left her alone for only a few minutes, taking the stairs two at a time, telling the kitchen staff at the inn’s main floor to prepare a meal for two before almost running back to their room.

He found her on the loveseat, changed into a simple tunic with her hair unbound and with her head resting on her hand against the arm rest. “The food will be ready in forty minutes.” She didn’t even nod.

Dorian slowly walked to her. “What did the Crochan tell you?” He asked as he leaned down in front of her.

Manon glanced at him. “The statements she read out, she called them ‘warning signs’ or ‘tactics.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Tactics for what?”

“To identify an abuser.”

The silence was deafening and it seemed like the world itself stopped as Dorian muttered, “abuser?”

“I knew her methods were…harsh, but I didn’t believe-”

“Believe what?” It seems she was fine with his prying and so he kept up the questions.

“I didn’t think she would find pleasure with it, or that her approach would make me so malleable, enough that I would seek it out and take it just so she would acknowledge me.”

Dorian was finally beginning to understand, and it broke his heart to see her this way. “Despite who she is, she is still a part of your family and she raised you. Of course you’d try to get her favor.”

Manon shook her head. “She manipulated me since birth, every single thing she said and did to me and those close to me was carefully calculated and executed just so I would act or do what she asked of me. It went on for so long I adopted her methods and used them on the people I loved just so she would feel pride for her heir.”

Dorian kept his face serene, even though it was the first time he’d heard her say the word ‘love.’ It only made what she said worse.

“I killed my sister and reveled in violence because she wanted me too. All I did was for her approval and attention and now-” she stopped again as silver lined her eyes. “I don’t know who I am. I don’t know what part of me is crafted by her and what is actually _me_.”

He grabbed her hand, tangling their fingers. “Every decision and action you made since you chose to defy her orders was **you**. Heck, even before that, you always took decisions while having your Thirteen in mind. And now, as Queen, you have never been anything _but_ the child of peace your parents wanted you to be. And what’s important in that statement is that it was _your_ choice and no one else’s.”

She stared at him closely, her attention on him so fierce he was slightly intimidated. But her edge was slowly returning, and her voice gained some momentum when she spoke again. “There is something else,” she admitted, “that troubles me.”

The King sat next to her, their hands still entwined. “Like before, if you want to stop-”

“Your father was not a nice man.”

It felt like he had been hit with an iron fist and for a long moment he was trapped within his memories. “No,” he managed to say, “he was not.”

“Does it make you uncomfortable? To speak about your father?”

It was his turn to hesitate, but he seemed to know what she was getting at. “My father did despicable things, some so vile they were virtually unspeakable. He was responsible for the death of an uncountable number of people and even went so far as to collar his own son to make him his mindless servant.” He took a breath. “No, my father was not a good man.”

Dorian looked at their joined hands, at the difference in skin color and at the small scars that littered them. She had more scars than him, he noticed. He opened his mouth and then closed it, thinking it through. “Even knowing all that, even knowing what he did to me…and even though I was the one to end him-” something he had never said aloud before, “a small part of me, or maybe a large one-I’ve given up trying to tell…still…loved him.” He lifted his gaze only to find her eyes already on him, different emotions visible on her face. Shock, sadness, and understanding showing through. Despite appearing opposites, they were not much different and it had been no surprise that they seemed to be the only ones to notice.

“I tried to convince myself that I was heartless,” she said.

Dorian smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Good thing you failed.”

“Quite spectacularly to be honest.” He chuckled before she added, “I would kill her in a heartbeat.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t stop you from loving her.”

“No…it doesn’t.” When he felt her head on his shoulder, he wanted both to cry and scream in joy, but the only thing he did was to tighten his hold on her hand. “Thank you.”

He needed no explanation as to why she was thanking him so Dorian merely nodded against her hair. “Anytime, witchling, anytime.”


	8. Fine

Breakfast was, as always loud and filled with chatter, while Dorian walked with his share of food toward one of the many designated areas separated for eating. He searched around and easily found the striking head of white hair between the people. Smiling, he caught the tail end of Asterin’s laugh as he sat on the spot next to Manon. “Good morning, ladies.”

Sorrel and Vesta stared at him with raised eyebrows, the latter hiding a smile behind her hand. Asterin said a ‘good morning’ while Manon grunted. As one of the shadows spoke, Dorian began to eat, only stopping when he noticed Manon’s plate was fairly untouched. “You’re not hungry?” He asked her.

She lay her chin on her hand as she pushed at the potatoes. “No.”

Surprise colored his face. “Really? I’ve never seen you refuse food before.” In fact, he personally knew how much the witch could take in. “I’ve seen you eat as much as three grown men.” And then some.

Manon shrugged.

Knowing she had a long night of meetings, he dropped the subject and, after Asterin had taken her Queen’s food and downed it in a few bites, Dorian followed Manon to an old farmhouse on the edge of camp. There were some Crochan witches staying in the place and Dorian surmised she was going to speak about travel arrangements yet again.

When the farmhouse came into view Manon stopped and looked at him like she had just realized he had followed along. Asterin was the one who spoke. “You need something?”

“My morning is free right now. I hope you don’t mind me tagging along.” When Manon looked away, his demeanor dropped. “Or…not?”

Sorrel stepped next to her Queen. “Manon?”

“He can come,” she said, her voice oddly low.

Asterin and Dorian shared a look while the former also stepped forward. “You had a watch rotation last night,” he said, remembering fully well how empty the room he shared with her at the nearby town’s inn had felt. “Are you tired?”

Manon straightened and her gold eyes focused on him. “I’m fine.”

The King’s brow furrowed as he watched her walk away. Something was off and a look to Asterin had him thinking he was in the right. The blonde skipped next to Manon. “We can postpone the meeting if you want.”

“It’s fine,” came the droll answer.

Dorian went next to her. “Is it? You don’t seem fine.”

She looked at him with a squint, like the sun was bothering her even when they were under the shade of trees. “Why are you here?”

He blinked. “I said I was free about three minutes ago.” Her head tilted in confusion. “You said I could tag along.”

Manon’s answer was to raise a hand to her head. Asterin joined in. “Does your head hurt? Are you sure you’re alright?”

The white-haired witch let out a breath and glared at her Second. “You need to stop asking questions.” Dorian reached forward to brush his hand against Manon’s cheek, but she smacked it away before he could. “Stop it.”

When Manon began to walk again, the sapphire-eyed man took a position next to her. “Let me just make sure you don’t have a fever,” he protested.

She stopped and took in another breath. “I said I’m fin-”

When she swayed, he reached out instinctively, grabbing her by the arm before she fell. Manon pushed him back weakly, but he kept his hold. “You’re burning up,” he told her.

“Let go.”

A moment later, she fell forward.

Asterin made a move to intercept, but Dorian was on it, taking the witch around the waist and keeping her against him. As he picked her up, he looked at Sorrel. “Go get a healer, we’ll take her to the inn.”

The Third needed no further incentive before she headed toward camp. Dorian looked at Asterin. “Witches can get sick?”

Her gold speckled eyes were on Manon, as her hands touched the Queen’s face. “Rarely, but it happens. She’s been very stressed lately.” Dorian looked at the witch in his arms and his worry for her lessened as he realized that for the first time, he was actually carrying her-she was in _his_ _arms_. A large smile would have played on his lips had Manon’s condition not been so precarious.

He and Asterin took the long way back toward the inn in order to avoid onlookers. The last thing they wanted was for unwarranted rumors to spread, especially among the witches. Savoring the moment, Dorian brought her close, liking how her weight felt and thinking he wouldn’t at all mind carrying her again.

At the inn, Asterin made him wait behind the building for the same reason they walked through the forest. As he was left alone with her, he smiled despite her flushed face. “I wish you’d let me do this when you’re awake, witchling,” he muttered into her hair. He had dared to ask her before and her answer had been a glare and a closed door as she entered the bathing room.

Perhaps on their wedding day…

If they won this war…

And neither of them died…

And he admitted his feelings…

And asked her to marry him…

And she said yes…

He sighed at all the ‘ifs’ and was glad when Asterin returned and signaled him forward.

…

 Manon awoke slowly, the pounding in her head making her want to fall back asleep. Hunger panged in her belly, but the nausea she knew she would feel the second she smelled food only made her want to think about something else. She opened her eyes and realized she was back at the inn, in the room she shared with Dorian. How did she get here?

Moving her fingers-she stopped, turning to her right where the princeling was holding her hand with both of his, his head on the bed. “He’s been next to you since this morning.”

The Queen looked to her left. “What happened.” An order.

Her Second was sitting on the couch next to the fireplace, her legs up on the low table in front, a book in her lap. “You fainted. The healer came to look at you and said you had a cold. Bedrest and food and you’ll be fine.”

Bedrest? Manon sat up while being careful not to wake Dorian. Her head made her want to growl. “What time is it?”

Asterin picked up her book again. “Late evening, past dinner. There’s a tonic for your headache next to the bed and your princeling already sent for food. It should arrive any time now.”

Manon took the tonic and sniffed it before downing it in one swing. She then got some water from the jug next to it. “I’ve never fainted before,” she muttered in annoyance.

“You’re under a lot of stress,” her Second remarked, “it happens.”

The Queen stared at the man asleep next to her. “Not to me.”

Asterin snorted which made Manon glare at her tiredly. “Lay back down while the food gets here. You’re not invincible.”

Peeved at the order, but knowing she was right, the white-haired witch leaned back against the headboard. At the same time, she felt Dorian stir, his hand closing around hers. “Oh, hey, you’re awake.” His worried smile made her warm up. “How are you feeling?”

The last thing she remembered was leaving breakfast with him next to her. “Fine,” she grumbled, not liking that he saw her in such a weak state.

His hand came up and though she backed away, Manon let him brush her cheek with his fingers. “Still a bit warm,” he said, “but getting better.” She pushed his hand away, aware that Asterin was in the room.   

Speaking of which, her Second had stood up and walked toward the entryway. “I’ll be outside the door if you need me.” Her gold speckled eyes narrowed in a knowing look Manon made sure to ignore. “I’ll knock when the food arrives.”

As Manon merely stared, Dorian smiled. “Alright, thank you, Asterin.”

After the blonde left, the King looked back at her. “You sure you’re feeling better?” His worry was almost annoying, almost because a part of her reveled in the attention. No one had ever worried for her like this before, even when Asterin certainly made an effort.

“I was tired,” she admitted.

“I think we both need a break.”

She looked at him and remembered what Asterin had said about him staying next to her since morning. “You cancelled your meetings?”

The witch tried not to think about how radiant his smile was, especially with his hair so mused. “I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Though touched, she still frowned. “It’s just a cold.”

“I know.”

They stared at each other for a moment, their gazes locked both an eternity and an instant before there was a knock on the door. Dorian leaned toward her, placing her hair behind her ear before he kissed her forehead. “I’ll get the food.”

Manon looked at the window and told herself the warmness on her cheeks was only due to her fever. 


	9. Promise

Princess Sorrin Blackbeak-Havilliard rushed through the hallways of her father’s large castle with a half-eaten cookie in one hand and a wooden practice dagger in the other. As she ran in her light blue summer dress, the five-year old glanced through the windows, catching the sight of three wyverns ready to fly on the eastern courtyard.

The witchling panted as her gold eyes took in the open doors toward the gardens and she avoided servants left and right and jumped over tables to make it just in time. Her father was already there, dressed in the usual fighting leather tunic he donned for training. His wear wasn’t what caused Sorrin to frown however, it was the fact that her mother was in full flying gear, Wing Cleaver strapped to her back and Abraxos fully saddled and ready to go.

She didn’t care what her parents were talking about as she bounded toward them, wisps of dark blue-black hair falling into her cherub face. “You’re leaving?”

Her mother blinked, but it was her father who spoke. “Hey, sweetheart, I thought you were still eating breakfast.”

Sorrin’s frown deepened as she walked straight to her mother. “You’re leaving?!” She repeated, louder than before.

Manon crossed her arms. “I’m needed at the Wastes-”

“No!”

Dorian cleared his throat. “Sorrin, we’ve talked about this, baby-”

The little girl growled, the sound reminiscent of her mother. “No! And I’m not a baby!” She didn’t catch the knowing look Manon gave Dorian or his subsequent huff.

“Sorrin,” her mother called and the little girl looked up at her. “I’m sorry I can’t stay, but I’m needed-”

“You said you would go to my recital!” The witchling exclaimed, referring to the dance recital she had been practicing for the past few months. “If you don’t go that means you lied to me!”

The few guards and courtiers walking along the courtyard turned to stare and the King and Queen shared a look. Dorian stepped back, allowing Manon to take over and the witch thought over her next words carefully. “Sorrin,” she said and her daughter pouted, her dark brows coming together in an exaggerated way. “There is an emergency I need to take care of in the west. We have talked about how this can happen.”

The frown turned sad and Sorrin’s bottom lip trembled with barely any restraint. “You said you would go.”

Manon had the decency to look apologetic. “I’m sorry, but I can’t assure you I will be back by then.”

“But you said-” a hiccup, “I _want_ you to go.” She had been practicing really really hard just so her mother would see her and now it had all been for nothing.

“I’m sorry,” the Queen repeated. Tears fell down the witchling’s face and her mother stepped closer. “I’ll make it up to you, alright? We’ll do something together when I get back.”

“No!” She wailed, and for the first time in a long time, Sorrin threw a fit. She kicked and screamed and cried, all the while grabbing her mother’s leg or edge of the cape or whatever she could get her hands on. It was not fair. It was not fair that she had done all this for her mother and she wouldn’t even be there to see it.

Manon weathered the storm admirably, crossing her arms and keeping her face composed even when her daughter could put a banshee to shame. Dorian flinched, and though he wanted to comfort the little girl, he had given the reigns to his Queen.

When at last Sorrin stopped screaming, Manon offered her hand, and her witchling looked at it as she wiped her red face and shook with the sobs still forming in her throat. When it was clear that her mother wouldn’t move, Sorrin took the hand, curling her palm around two of Manon’s fingers, and the witch led them away, deep into the eastern gardens, away from prying eyes.

Sorrin sniffed as her mother let go and crouched down in front of her. “Look at me,” she ordered, but her voice was soft. Gold eyes met an identical pair of gold and Manon fixed her daughter’s hair carefully. “I know you’re disappointed.”

“It’s not fair,” Sorrin cried with a broken tone.

“You’re right, it’s not,” her mother replied, this time using her cloak to wipe away at the snot and tears. “I was truly looking forward to watching your recital.”

“You were?”

“Very much so, yes.”

Sorrin swallowed as her voice steadied. “Then don’t go.”

Manon’s face softened. “I’m sorry, love, but being Queen means having a lot of responsibilities and right now there are people that need my help.”

“They do?”

The witch nodded and raised a finger to intercept more tears. “I’ll tell you what-”

“What?”

Manon huffed, “don’t interrupt me. You have to listen when someone talks to you. Crying won’t do much when you refuse to listen.”

“Alright.”

“Alright,” her mother repeated. “My mission, what I have to do, I will try to finish it as quickly as I can.”

Sorrin’s eyes lit up. “Does that mean-” When Manon gave her a look she stopped talking.

“I will try, but I can’t assure you I will make it back.”

“But you’ll try,” the little girl insisted.

“Yes.”

With another sniff, Sorrin raised her hands and Manon inched forward to let the embrace happen. The witchling felt a kiss on her temple and she fought back the tears valiantly. “You promise you’ll try really hard to make it?” Sorrin muttered.

Manon stroked her hair. “I promise.”

The witchling inched back and brought up her hand. “Pinky promise?”

Her mother smiled and even gave a bow, raising her own hand. “Pinky promise,” she whispered back.

…

“Fifteen minutes to show-time, dancers!”

Sorrin swallowed nervously, but not because she feared the stage. A few of her fellow performers flittered about, quietly cramming the last few minutes of practice before their big debut. The witchling had been dancing for close to six months now, product of when she saw a group of dancers in the castle square perform for her parents. She had been awestruck by the combination of their movements and glittering costumes and had asked her parents if she could do that too.

Her father’s eyes had widened in delight and while her mother merely raised an eyebrow she’d been in a beginner’s class the very next day. Because of her training with her mother and aunts, Sorrin had been praised for her flexibility and soon she was excelling in dance. This was her first show and the first time she would dance in front of her parents. Well, she thought as she peeked from around the curtain, just her father.

Disappointment came and filled her up strong and fast, to the point where she considered taking off her deer costume and going back home to her room in the stone castle.

Sorrin’s teacher called up the dancers in the third routine to line up and the little girl filed up next to her peers with a pout. She breathed in and out a few times to keep the tears from falling, if only to not ruin the complicated makeup on her face.

“It’s alright,” she told herself, “papa is here.”

And there was always a next time.

...

“I’ll go now.”

“There’s a storm coming.”

Manon looked at her Second and then toward the sky. Indeed, there was a storm on its way. Even though it was late evening, the thick gray clouds were visible against the dark of the night. Still, the Queen took it all in passively. “Abraxos has flown in worse weather.”

Asterin leaned in, her musical voice lowered. “I know it’s Sorrin’s recital today.” Manon frowned. “But none of us have eaten and the wyverns need rest.”

The recital was set to begin in an hour and as of now, Manon and the sentinels with her were a good three hours out…and with this brewing storm. “Abraxos will understand,” she heard herself say, “and I promised I would be there.”

Asterin gave her an unreadable look, a mix between understanding and disapproval. As Queen, Manon’s safety came first, but because it _was_ Manon, Asterin wouldn’t keep her back from setting off. “Be careful.”

The Queen nodded and without a moment to waste bounded to Abraxos. “One more trip,” she told him, “we have a promise to keep.”

Abraxos stretched his wings and let out a long yawn, but as Manon strapped in and patted his neck, he sprung into the air like he had been well rested.

It took them a little over an hour to get to the outskirts of Rifthold and Abraxos nearly collapsed when they got to the wyvern stables next to the eastern gardens of the castle. Manon didn’t wait to see if the stable boys had reached them, didn’t take off her weapons or her cloak as she ran to the gates that led to the street in the direction of the theater.

The streets were mostly empty, but the witch still had to jump over closing vendor carts and dodge clusters of people as she ran with one goal in mind. The clock tower atop the war memorial had not sounded which meant she still had time, or so she hoped. She hadn’t bothered to check the exact hour, but even if she was an hour late, she would at least catch the second half of the performance.

Gasping for breath, the Queen burst through the theater doors, scaring the staff members present and an older couple who seemed to have arrived a few seconds before her. Trying to not think about her state of dress and the fact that she needed a bath, Manon turned to the servant nearest to her.

“Take-” she held her chest and forced her heart to calm. “Take me to my seat.”

The woman nodded quickly, leading her Queen toward the respective stall even though Manon figured it was the same place as the last time she’d been there. Seeing how the lights were dimming, Manon pushed past the attendant and went up the stairs to where the private booths were located. She crashed into the rope partitions, startling the guards around the royal booth before finally stumbling into her seat.

“Last call before the show, please take your seats.”

Manon groaned and panted as she slumped into the chair next to Dorian and despite the mess she was in, the King only smiled widely. “You made it!”

She tried to return the smile, but she needed air first. “I promised.”

Dorian asked for some water as she placed her head between her knees. “Do you think you’re going to be sick?” He asked her, worry lacing his voice.

Manon closed her eyes. “Give me a minute,” she muttered between huffs. When she finally straightened, there was a glass of water being held in front of her. The witch downed it in one gulp and Dorian took it from her to refill as he spoke up.

“You made it,” he repeated, thoroughly impressed.

Manon cleared a second, and then a third glass before she answered. “And with time to spare it seems.”

He nodded and squeezed her hand before refilling the glass one more time. When Manon turned to the show, she watched the first set of dancers file through-older girls with a bit more grace and control than she had seen Sorrin with when the little witchling asked for her to watch just the week before. After some time, Manon, finally calm and collected, kept her smile to herself as she caught the pout visible on Sorrin’s face when it was her turn to dance. A pout that turned into a full blown smile when she spotted both of her parents on the dais.


	10. Smiles and Hair Braiding

The morning came with a wave of cold so in variance with the time of day Dorian wondered if the light streaming from the stained windows of the ramshackle inn they were staying at were product of some practicing magician’s fire. The gods knew how many were just now realizing they had magical gifts. Despite everything, the King wanted to growl in desperation as it had felt like he had gone to sleep not five minutes ago. He kept his grumbling to himself, if only to give his companion a few more minutes before the inevitable separation.

At this point in the war it was almost impossible to meet up before dinner and Dorian had to admit the only thing keeping him grounded was the white-haired witch next to him. Not even Chaol’s heavy looks of disapproval whenever he saw them together could change how the King felt and just the thought of sleeping next to Manon made him go through the day without breaking down or bursting out-as he was still trying to control his magic and, lately, even the small things got it working up.

Only pale skin that was lightly scarred, long white hair, and lips that tasted like honey and starlight kept him from losing control of his raw magic, and the only one who knew of his volatile temperament was the same one who had complete control over him.

Manon shifted against him and Dorian bit his lip as her bare thighs brushed over his. Only a few parts of her body were unmarred and though he enjoyed exploring every inch of her skin, those soft areas were a treat he never got tired of tasting. “Good morning, witchling.” He gave her head a nudge with his nose, inhaling the heavenly smell of her hair as he did so. Whether or not she realized how much influence she had over him, Dorian didn’t care. If anything, he was glad it was her and no one else.

“Hardly a good morning.”

He wanted to moan at the sound of her voice like this, but he knew they wouldn’t get out of bed for a long time if he did so. They had already arrived late at a number of critical war meetings, and as the final battle drew closer they could waste no more time. Feeling somewhat overwhelmed, Dorian closed his eyes and softly kissed her temple while his hand trailed over the bare skin of her waist. “Don’t miss breakfast this time,” he warned.

Her nails scraped his chest, but she left no mark-she never did, even when he asked her too. “One missed meal won’t kill me.”

“It could very well be the last meal you eat before the next battle. I’d rather not worry more than I already will.”

Manon stiffed at the confession before she backed up to meet his eyes. Face to face like this, it was almost painful how perfectly made her features were. If he ever got the chance to take back his kingdom and reclaim his city, he would ask an artist to paint a portrait of her-if only to immortalize her beauty for generations to come. “Worry is for fools. I am well-versed in war.”

The King smiled, but it was small and somewhat forced. He pushed back at her hair with his fingers. “Then I seem to be the biggest fool to ever walk this earth.”

She rolled her eyes. “You always get dramatic in the mornings.”

“I do?”

Her expression said it all, but she still spoke, “yes.”

Dorian nodded, taking in the information. “I suppose that is what happens when you sleep next to someone as lovely as you.” Her scoff made him chuckle and he had a passing thought on how he would love to wake up to a conversation like this every morning.

“Does that work on all the women you’ve bedded?”

The amusement flew right off his face. “I never slept with anyone I bedded before you came along.”

The honesty in his voice must have surprised her. “Really?”

The smile returned and he brushed his lips over her cheek, an area as soft as her inner thighs. “Why would I lie?”

Manon let him trail his mouth toward her neck. “Then it is a first for the both of us.”

Attraction exploded within him, but Dorian controlled it well. He already knew that, but hearing her say it made him feel powerful. Special. “It’s my favorite part of the day.”

If this had been just the week before, Manon would have burst out of bed and literally backed away from his words, from the revelation of feelings she didn’t want to face. As it was, she stayed where she was, letting him talk and not being overwhelmed by his affection. Dorian had not told her he loved her, but they both knew the truth. He wasn’t about to pressure her, however, which is why he treasured every moment she let him have with her. Voices floated from outside the room and Manon let out a breath near his ear. “We have to go soon.”

He nodded, but neither made a move to get out of bed. Especially not while naked, Dorian mused.

As with most mornings, not that they had spent too many together, Manon was the first to move the sheets, facing the cold with the indifferent bravado he was quickly getting used to. She wore a mask in front of others, a mask she had a lot of trouble putting down, even when they were alone and he was inside her.

“Hey,” he called. The witch glanced at him as she placed on her leathers, but not before giving him a sight that would leave many drooling. “Let me braid your hair today.”

The face she made had him laughing and he relished in the fact that she amused him without even trying. “I’m to meet some war leaders today,” she said, “I wouldn’t want my hair to be of any indication as to how lacking my capabilities are.”

“I’ve been practicing.” Those enchanting gold eyes narrowed in question. “I may have asked Vesta for some tips recently.” It was an understatement. When Manon stayed late in patrols around the different encampments he had busied himself with the sentinel, learning the tips and tricks of hair plaiting and attempting to grasp at least the basics.

Manon blinked which meant she was considering it.

Dorian sat up.

“If you do it wrong, I will redo it,” she told him.

The dark-haired man was already placing on his trousers, remembering his lessons and forcing his hands to stop shaking. It felt like a high privilege, to let him do her hair. Dorian knew he couldn’t mess it up. With a sly grin, he signaled the chair in front of the cracked vanity mirror. “Have a seat, witchling.”

She glowered, but followed through and sat down. They met eyes through the mirror and Dorian began to work on her hair, taking his time even though their moments were numbered. He had seen her braid her hair in a quick and effortless fashion, weaving intricate designs without even looking in the mirror and having them come out perfectly. A lifetime of practice.

The braid he was going for was a simple waterfall design that began on either side of her head and fell into a tight knot at the back to prevent it from breaking free when flying. It took him three times as long as it took her to get it looking decent, but he was proud of the result once he was done. “There,” he said, “see for yourself.”

Manon went for the hand mirror on the vanity and used it to observe his work. Dorian felt like he would cry if she said she didn’t like it. A childish thought, but his feelings had been erratic since he was released from the Valg collar. Her eyes went to his as she placed down the item in her hand. “Well done, princeling.”

The wide smile on his face had her raising an eyebrow, but he couldn’t help himself as he went to hug her. She went rigid under the embrace, but Dorian reveled in the fact that she didn’t push him away, a night and day difference from the last time he had tried to hug her. “I’m so glad you like it!”

The witch cleared her throat and only spoke when he let go. “Most witchlings could do better.” When his face dropped she tilted her head, “you did more than just ‘ask for tips’ from Vesta. I can tell.”

Dorian shrugged. “I really wanted to learn.”

“Why?”

Because I love you, because you’re perfect and your hair is soft, and I want everyone to know you’re just as beautiful on the inside as you are on the outside.

He looked at her closely. “I just wanted to try it.”

“Alright.”

Not wanting it to get awkward, the King offered her his hand. “Breakfast?” In answer, she walked right past him, going for the door and leaving him standing there, hand still outstretched. He waited for his feelings to react, for him to feel hurt at her reaction. But his emotions were calm, almost giddy, remnant of knowing she kept the hairstyle. Biting his bottom lip to keep from smiling widely again, Dorian followed after her.


	11. Aftermath

Manon grunted as she fell to the ground even though Abraxos was low enough to it that he was laying on it. She watched as four of her sentinels dropped down as well, mixed looks of annoyance and distaste on all their beautiful faces. Trying to lessen her limp in front of the other witches, Manon held unto Abraxos’ half-chewed saddle and knew it would take at least a week before she would be able to ride again-not that she would try with her leg in the current condition.

The ilken her witches had tracked for close to a month had regrouped and staged an ambush. Manon admitted that she had gotten somewhat confident when it came to the tracking and killing of the beasts, and that overconfidence had cost them.

She watched with a frown as Lin’s wyvern groaned into her rider’s feet while the medical staff attended to the female’s left wing. Abraxos himself was unharmed and she patted his snout for two reasons. One, to reassure him that everything would be alright, and two, because she wouldn’t be able to walk without drawing attention to her injury. An injury she had received due to her own mistake.

“You should get that leg checked out.”

The newly-crowned Queen turned her head, acknowledging, but not enough for it to seem suspicious. “I’m fine.”

Her Third’s stare bore into her own. “Mistakes happen-”

Manon growled as she kept her eyes on Lin’s wyvern, on the black blood coating its side. “This was an oversight. I was too brash with my orders. Overconfident.” Manon looked back at Sorrel. “It was my fault.”

A frown was her answer, but her Third was not Asterin and she didn’t seem to be in the mood to argue. “We have good days and we have bad ones,” she said quietly. “What matters is that we all made it and that the ilken are dead.”

 _Barely_ , Manon wanted to snap, but held her tongue if only because it had been a long three days and they all needed to rest from this disaster. Sorrel cleared her throat, uncomfortable, but not enough to keep her mouth shut. “Get that leg checked out.”

The Queen almost showed her teeth, but held back when voices filtered through the growing crowd around the wyverns. Great, the gore and blood caused a scene-bigger than the usual. A specific voice rose over the rest and the witch watches as Dorian jogged to where she was. For a moment she considered getting on Abraxos and flying away, if only to spare him the sight.

“Are you alright?” He asked and she looked over his handsome face and hated seeing the worry there.

Pretending she didn’t look like she had left a warzone, Manon nodded stiffly. “Nothing time won’t heal.”

The King gave her a look-over and she knew by the twitching of his fingers that he was dying to use his magic on her. She commended his self-control. “You look like you’re about to faint,” he muttered.

“That bad?”

Dorian frowned as he offered his hand. “Come with me, Abraxos will be taken care of.”

Going with him seemed like a great idea, but she knew the moment she placed some weight on her leg she would be liable to fall over. She turned to her wyvern who was keeping still next to her, his tail swishing in front of the crowd of people, keeping them back while at the same time forming a barrier around them with his body. “I need to make sure Abraxos is fine,” Manon heard herself say. It was the only way she could keep using her wyvern as a walking stick.

She caught Dorian’s nod and they all made their way to the stables, beyond where the onlookers could reach and far enough that Manon felt comfortable with letting her limp show. Of course the fool caught it immediately and didn’t seem to care at all that she was filthy and that his fancy clothes would get ruined the second he placed his hands on her.

“You’re hurt.” It came out as an accusation and the witch didn’t look at him even when she let him hold her arm to steady her. “Stop moving for one second,” he said.

“I’ll be fine after a bath and clean clothes.” It wasn’t a lie, but she doubted she could take off her leathers for at least a few hours, not until her immortal blood healed her wounds enough for her to do so.

“Witchling, please keep still.”

“I don’t need to be coddled.” Not in front of so many witnesses.

Dorian read her look. “No one is looking this way, let me just-” His fingers grazed her neck and she figured the break must be worse than it felt because he hissed and went so far as to kneel in front of her.

No, she wasn’t going to let him do that, not like this. “Don’t,” she ordered as she went for his arm and stood him back up. “Not here.”

His concern made her hesitate, if only because she was still getting used to it, to the attention. To having someone fuss over her in ways she never thought were possible. Still, Dorian nodded, but as soon as no eyes were on them, she was scooped up, the position both alleviating the pressure on her leg and angering her. “Relax,” he muttered as he brought her close, and she chided herself for wanting to lean into his warmth.

She placed a hand on his chest. “I can walk.”

“Your femur is broken in two places and your ankle bones are a mess.”

She huffed. That explained the sharp pains that burst through the numbness. The century of fighting had hardened her pain tolerance, but it was still not enough to dull this. As Dorian took the long way back to the castle to avoid onlookers, Manon crossed her arms. “Do I want to know what happened?” She heard him say, his heartbeat steady under her ear as she couldn’t hold her head up anymore.

“The hunt was a success.” Albeit a bloody rutting mess.

Somehow they got to the royal rooms without a single person crossing their paths and Manon had a sneaking suspicion that Dorian had something to do with it. He lay her down on the couch in their shared room and she bit back her groan at the movement.

“Lie down.” Slowly, she did so and soon his hands were glowing blue and some of the pain was alleviating enough for her to stop biting her lip.

“I can’t heal this even if I wanted to,” he said, his voice strained. “You need a healer.”

Manon lay down her head as she closed her eyes. “Fine, go get one.”

...

The Queen of the newly joined Ironteeth-Crochan Witch Kingdom bared her teeth as Dorian made a move to pick her up for the fourth time in the past hour. “I’m just taking you back to the bed so you can be more comfortable,” he explained, although she could see right through his lie. It turned out that the broken bones on her leg would take at least two weeks to heal well enough for her to walk, even with her immortal blood providing some extra help. Which meant she had to wear a brace on her leg and tolerate the princeling carrying her around. The crutches the healer had gotten for her had mysteriously gone ‘missing’ only a few hours after she had been put in the brace and no amount of insistence on her part would make a new pair appear.

When the King placed her back on the bed she sank into the covers with a glare. “No more moving, princeling.”

His smile was not reassuring. “I’ll be next to the balcony windows.”

But just as she expected, he was back by her side only a half hour later, making some excuse or another to ‘take her out into the balcony’ or ‘move her to the main room couch’ or ‘in my office it’s warmer’ just so he could take her in his arms-if at least for a moment.

She could have told him ‘no’ at any time, could have made him stop in a heartbeat. He would have, if she had asked.

But she let him do as he wanted.

Every single time.


	12. Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This specific chapter mentions/implies suggestive themes that some readers may not be comfortable with such as sexual assault and trauma, however, it does not go into detail and follows guidelines on this site and is tagged for the appropriate audience.

Manon watched in interest as two generals from Rowan’s Fae armada spoke on their plans to attack the eastern legion of Erawan’s army, more specifically, the aerial cavalry. The moments toward the final battle, the end of this war, were near. And with the extra help of the army Chaol and Nesryn brought from the southern lands it seemed like this mismatched joint force could actually stand a chance.

The witch carefully observed the two Crochan war leaders that had agreed to join under her banner. It had taken time, effort, and a lot of haggling, but Manon had done it-claiming a spot as their leader, at least for long enough to take down Erawan and save this world. Whatever happened afterward was up for debate.

“Truly a shame,” Endymion, one of Rowan’s cousins, was saying as the war council recessed for a few minutes. “Alastor would have done well here.”

Manon paused, but it was imperceptible.

“It did strike me as odd that he wasn’t with you,” Rowan said as he crossed his arms. “Where _is_ Alastor?” His tone of voice suggested he wasn’t too upset about the missing Fae.

“Our youngest cousin was killed,” Sellene answered with a wave, “some fifty years ago.”

Manon stopped breathing as she listened in, as others quieted to hear the conversation. She noticed Dorian turn his head toward the Fae.

“How?”

Endymion answered. “He had been in this continent for whatever reason and had decided to travel alone for some time. When too long had gone by, his traveling companions went searching for him and eventually found his body hacked into pieces in a cave west of the Ruhnn Mountains.”

“Did you ever find who was responsible?” Aelin asked, and since everyone else in the room had quieted, her voice carried to every ear.

Aedion looked at Manon and she turned away without wanting too.  

“No,” Endymion said. “But small iron shards were found stuck to his flesh.”

Nausea roiled in the witch’s gut and although she meant to hide it she felt the eyes on her without raising her head from where she was still looking at the map. A tense silence followed as Dorian touched her hand under the table. “Manon?” He whispered.

“You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, witch?”

Asterin and Sorrel both growled at Aedion, more at his tone of voice than his question. Schooling her features, the white-haired Queen slowly met his dual-colored eyes. “Perhaps,” she said, her voice steely and sharp, “he only got what he deserved.”

A cold draft was the only indication that the Fae were threading on a thin line and Endymion was the one to stand-slowly. Manon knew her sentinels were ready to use their weapons so she followed through, standing up as well as she kept her eyes on the Fae male. Who, she noticed with a hint of repressed fear, reminded her of _him_ -of sweet words and the promise of an enjoyable evening. An evening that turned into a life and death altercation when things hadn’t gone the way he wanted them too.  

Dorian was the one to speak as he went for her wrist. “The last thing we need is strife.”

Sellene crossed her arms. “ _Did_ you kill him, Witch Queen?”

As the attention fell back on Manon she had the urge to leave. To just walk out and pretend this never happened. She did not need this baggage to resurface when she had buried it along with its memories. She had never talked about that Fae male-Alastor-of how she shook from head to toe after it happened. Of how it felt like she had no air in her lungs and how red and blue blood mixed in with tears she couldn’t stop. She had cradled her arm and kicked the male’s severed head away, before grabbing her clothes and leaving the cave in the middle of the night. She had to walk to the nearest town since he had broken her broom in a fit of rage.

It had been the last time she had bedded someone she didn’t know, the last time she wanted to touch a Fae male or for that matter, any male at all.

It wasn’t until fifty years later, until she met a certain King, that she let herself be touched in that way again.

No, Manon thought, she was not going to lay bare her secrets for others to know.  As suddenly as the silence had set it, the witch made a move to leave the room. If they wanted to confront her later on, then she would let them do so. But not in this war tent and certainly not in front of Dorian.

The Whitethorns all got to their feet and the white-haired witch knew without a doubt that she was not getting out of this tent without an explanation…or a fight. Her iron teeth snapped down without her wanting too, her eyes on the nearest Fae, Endymion.

He growled at her. “He was a noble warrior.”

Her hand clenched into a fist, her nails digging into her palm, drawing blood as she spoke. “Then it’s clear you did not know him.”

The humans began to back away, knowing a battle between immortals was not something you wanted to get in the middle of. Dorian’s magic flared, but Manon was focused on the others. Too many, there were too many Fae for her witches to take out and their wind magic would kill them before they made a move even with Manon beginning to understand her own magical prowess.

“Hold up,” Aelin said, walking between them. “Dorian is right, we shouldn’t fight, especially not now.”

Sellene growled deep. “Is it not the witches’ own belief that ‘blood must have blood?”

At the statement even Rowan bared teeth. Manon only watched them and when her eyes met Endymion the smaller male narrowed his own. “Why did you kill him?”

“It doesn’t matter-”

Sellene was cut off by her cousin. “It’s important to know.” Because it wouldn’t make sense for a witch to kill a Fae for no reason. Fae and witches did not like each other, but more often than not in the past, when one met the other avoidance was the normal approach. Altercations between the two species were rare and far between.

The comment seemed to work in calming down the tense atmosphere, but Manon wasn’t feeling a change. Quite the opposite really, as her heartbeat increased and she felt both hot and cold all over. She had prided herself in her reputation, building up the myth of being a heartless killer to compensate for what she now knew was deep emotion. That Fae male had changed her and she had hated him for it, hated that even now his influence continued to suffocate her.

Hated that he had made her feel weak…and that in some instances, she still did.

But Manon was aware of how important this war was to the world, to the safety of all. So she slowly spoke, forcing her voice to be calm as she said, “he died for what he did to women…and what he did to me.”

The silence following her words was so loud, Manon’s hands twitched in an effort to cover her ears. She wanted to disappear into the ground and have them all take a potion to forget what she said. The truth of her words only made her angrier, her frustration at being looked at with pity-even from the Fae-made her feel weak and worthless.

She didn’t even want to look at Dorian, or any of her Thirteen-or the Crochan’s for that matter. So Manon turned to the map in front of her and said the only thing that came to mind. “Now that we are all clear, we can go back to the task at hand. We were talking about possible ideas to take the eastern front?”

No one spoke and she wanted to groan, a sickening feeling overcoming her stomach as she felt the prickling of tears. No, the _last_ thing she needed was to prove them all right and cry over something that happened decades ago. It was a large surprise that out of all the people in the room, Lysandra came to her rescue by uttering something about having the southern legion moved east.

Aelin cleared her throat then, giving Manon a short nod before making a wide motion with her hand. “Galan and I have been talking about splitting some of the aerial cavalry to provide support to those troops and retake the eastern front.”

Someone else spoke up, one of the Crochans, but Manon wasn’t paying attention as she moved to sit back down. As the others returned to their seats and the discussion began again, the Witch Queen closed her eyes-and only then noticed how tightly Dorian was holding her. She hadn’t been aware of his hand in hers, or that they had been holding hands in the first place.

When she lifted her grip he let go, but his eyes were burning and she barely met them because she didn’t want to see the emotions there. Didn’t want to figure out what he was thinking.

She spent the rest of the war council in silence, glad that her seat was towards the edge of the room and that most would have to turn their whole bodies to look at her. But she could feel the eyes of her sentinels on her, particularly Asterin, who she knew would be hurt that she kept this to herself-especially after their conversation about being honest to each other-about being family.

Rubbing at her face, Manon was one of the first out of her seat when the meeting concluded and she almost ran out of the room in order to avoid any semblance of an interaction. There was only one place she wanted to be now.

And the wyvern stables were on the other side of the camp.

…

Dorian followed after Manon with a safe distance between them, if only because she needed it and knowing that if he tried to talk to her she would only close up further than she already was. His mind was a whirlwind and the only thing keeping his magic under control was the fact that Manon was here and well and not having to fight for her life after she was taken advantage of in a far-off dark cave-

He cringed and he felt Asterin next to him before she entered his field of vision. “Let her be for now.”

“I’m not planning on talking to her,” he responded dryly. He wasn’t stupid. He knew Manon still had trouble dealing with her emotions, especially when it came to situations like this. Revealing such a deep secret made anyone volatile; he couldn’t imagine what she was going through. If she ever wanted to talk about it with him, he would be all ears, but he wasn’t about to pressure her.

And he sure as hell wasn’t taking her out of his sight.

And by the way Asterin nodded and walked next to him, a respectable distance away from Manon, he knew she was thinking the same thing.

As they watched Manon go to Abraxos, Dorian lay against a tree that was far enough away to give her the privacy she needed. Asterin crossed her arms next to him and he spotted Sorrel walking along the tree-line, scouting.

“Did you know?” He already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it.

“No.” Asterin pushed back at her hair and he could sense her irritation at having to wait for her cousin to come to her. He knew she wanted to mother and console, Manon had told him as much when she and her Second had decided to be more like actual family members than soldiers of differing ranks. “I knew there was a lot about her past that I don’t know, even when we’ve been speaking more about…things.” She paused as she turned to the stables-to where Manon was laying next to Abraxos, her back to them. “I never wondered why she seemed to stay away from men…what kind of Second am I that I never noticed-”

“You can’t blame yourself for this,” he muttered, “we can’t change the past.” It hurt to say that, but it was true. He’d had enough of wondering ‘what if’ scenarios and condemning himself over things he had no control over. Still, “I wish it hadn’t happened like this.”

When Manon had come out with the truth Dorian had felt like he’d been punched in the gut, burned at the stake, and skinned alive all at the same time. The fact that she had reached for his hand had been his only tether, that despite what happened to her she trusted him enough to touch him while she lay herself bare in front of all those war leaders.

Secrets that she had kept hidden and locked up for fifty years. “I want you to know something,” he said to Asterin after some silence. The witch turned to him and he noticed how her eyes were rimmed with red, drying tears trailing from each eye, tears for her Queen, he knew. “I’m in love with her.”

It was the first time he had said it aloud, the first time he admitted it to someone other than himself. Asterin stared at him for a long time, her eyes like black pools in the rising moonlight. She turned to Manon, then back to him, before nodding once. She didn’t need to say anything; he could read it all in her beautiful-wild face. Dorian nodded back, and they both turned to Manon as she lay her head on Abraxos’ flank.

…

Manon made her way back to her shared tent with Dorian deep into the night, if only to avoid bumping into anyone She had known her sentinels would follow after her, and even now she could sense her Third and Fourth hanging about. They gave her space however, which she appreciated.

It wasn’t that Manon was embarrassed or ashamed of what she’d been through, but she had buried the memories so far into her mind she had close to forgotten them. Bringing it all back to the surface, admitting to herself and to others what she had been through at the hands of that Fae male…she stopped walking for a moment, letting the despair run through her-the reality that she wasn’t as powerful as she made herself out to be. And that everyone else now knew.

If it wasn’t for Abraxos’ quiet support in those hours she spent with the wyvern, Manon would have definitely broken down, not at the memories, but at the fact that she had been _pitied_. She hated pity.

For a moment, the witch hesitated before opening the flap that led into the tent. Dorian had left sometime after she had laid next to Abraxos and she couldn’t lie to herself when she felt relief that he did so, and that Asterin had followed after him.

“Manon?”

She looked up and squinted at the light coming from the inside. It was warm and smelled of home which made her chest clench up. Dorian was seated on his cot even though they always ended up squeezed into hers. She let the flap close behind her and when he only stared, she figured it’d be best to just get it over with.

“Do you want to say something?” She asked, and she cursed her voice for catching at the end. Her time away from her grandmother _had_ made her soft. And perhaps it was for the best, but she despised feeling this way right now.

He let out a breath and she didn’t look into his eyes-couldn’t. “Are you hungry?” She glanced at him in surprise and his answer was to smile. “I got you some dinner saved up.” Dorian stood up and walked toward the wooden table on the side of the tent. She hadn’t even noticed the bowl of food there as he used his magic to heat the mix of potato, bread, and meat.

Manon slowly walked toward the meal as he pulled up a chair for her. She sat in silence, her appetite slowly returning as he poured her a glass of wine. But when she went to grab the fork, her hand shook so badly she dropped it. “Rutting emotions,” she growled.

Dorian dragged up one of the cots next to the small table, as they only had one chair, and picked up both the bowl and utensils. She watched how he cut the meat into perfect slices, and then how he paused when he caught her staring. Slowly, he placed the items back on the table. “You asked me if I wanted to say something,” he muttered.

Manon looked up at him. His eyes were serious as he spoke again. “You are the bravest person I know, witchling.”

“I’m not brave,” she countered and lifted her shaking hand to prove it.

He took her hand in his and with a care she’d come to expect, placed her palm on his chest, right above his heart. It was beating evenly and she wished hers could do the same, if only for long enough to eat. “You are, Manon,” he reiterated, “you are very brave.”

She bit her bottom lip hard, nodding even though she didn’t believe him. “I don’t want pity,” she whispered.

“The last thing I would do is that.”

She frowned, more at the fact that he was being honest than at his words. “I’m hungry,” she said, not wanting to talk about it anymore.

The King let go of her hand, but not before pressing a kiss to her scarred knuckles and then another on her forehead. “Whatever you want, witchling.” He picked up the plate and the fork.

“What are you doing?”

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “What does it look like? I don’t want you wasting all this food after I spent my time getting it for you by dropping it on the floor.” He was teasing, but Manon had to reluctantly admit that it lifted her spirits.

“So you’re going to feed me?”

His smile was radiant and for a moment it melted away her problems and fears, and not just with what happened that afternoon. “Yes,” he answered and she figured that for once, she’d let him do as he wanted.


	13. Doorstep

Dorian looked outside at the pouring rain that seemingly came out of nowhere. It was thundering and lightning broke through the darkness of the night sky while the young man enjoyed a nice cup of hot chocolate in his knit sweater. Safe and warm in his home, Dorian felt a little bad for anyone who had gotten trapped in this weather and soon he was in front of the television watching the evening news while the rain rattled on.

His doorbell ringing made his eyebrows rise as he wondered who was at the door. His house was out in the country and his nearest neighbor was a few miles down the road. Taking his gun with him and making sure it was loaded, he went to the door.

“Who is it?”

“Hey, uh, sorry, you don’t know me.”

It was a woman, but from her position near the door, he couldn’t really see her. “What do you want?”

He watched as she crossed and uncrossed her arms before taking steps back and wow…

“I don’t really have a car,” she said quietly and Dorian could quickly figure out what happened. She must have been walking on the trail toward the city when the storm began.

Risking it, Dorian slowly opened the door to find what must have been the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. She was in a thin blue sweater and black pants. Her long white hair was soaked through and considering how she was shaking, she was freezing.

Her eyes, a burnt shade of amber so deep it was gold, dropped to the gun in his hand and he shrugged. “This place is pretty remote, nothing personal.”

She nodded, but he wasn’t sure just how much was conscious or because of how cold she was. He quickly glanced around her and when he was sure this girl was alone he invited her in.

She thanked him quietly, almost shyly, as she observed the inside of his home. Dorian watched her carefully. “Not that it is my problem, but you should not be out at this time of night without a car.” She didn’t answer and he was suddenly struck with how…pathetic she looked. Soaking wet and cold in a stranger’s house. “What _are_ you doing without a car at this time of night?”

Those gold eyes turned to him and he tried really hard not to get lost in them. “I was taking a walk,” she said, and although he looked at her unconvincingly, he knew she would get sick in those clothes. Questions could hold out for later.

“You can use my bathroom,” he told her, “I have a robe in there you can wear while your clothes get washed.” She thought about it before nodding and he led her to the bathroom. As she closed the door, Dorian heard the weatherman say that the rain would force some roadblocks. It looks like this girl was stuck there with him until further notice.

About twenty minutes later, she came back in and Dorian had to hold himself back from thinking that she was all naked under that robe. She was so pretty it was almost unnatural. “What’s your name?” She asked suddenly and he figured he liked the intonation of her voice.

“Dorian. You can sit there if you like.” She followed through while he sat up and took some hot cocoa and poured it in another cup. “Hot chocolate, it helps.” As she went to take it he made note of a bruise on her wrist. “What’s your name?”

She looked up like she didn’t want to tell him which caused him to raise an eyebrow. The girl crossed her arms. “Manon.”

It was very possible that she was lying, but it’s not like it mattered. “That sounds foreign.” Dorian thought about it. “French?”

She gave a little shadow of a smile and he felt himself stupidly enchanted. “Yeah.”

“Unique.”

“Stupid.”

He huffed in amusement and quiet took over for the next ten minutes, both of them watching the newscaster implore people to stay in their homes. Curious, Dorian placed his cup down. “So, where do you live? In the city?”

Manon looked up at him. “Yeah, kinda.”

“Kinda?”

“I move around a lot,” she admitted before taking one last sip and placing the cup down.

“You homeless or something?” She raised an eyebrow, but didn’t disagree. “It’s cool, you know, if you are. It’s hard to make a living in this country.”

She let out a short breath as she looked back to the TV. “This is a nice house, you live alone?”

“Yeah, I do stuff on the internet.”

“Stuff’?” When he didn’t answer, she frowned a bit. “Are you into like…porn?”

“No, God no.” He pushed back at his hair nervously. “You heard of YouTube?”

“You mean the video thing?”

“Yeah.”

“You can make money off of that?”

“Yep.”

She leaned back as she crossed her arms. “Damn.”

“You work somewhere?” Her clothes were nice and she seemed like she ate regularly even though he spotted another healing bruise close to her left collarbone.

“I’ve tried a few things.”

“Like what?”

“If you’re thinking ‘modeling,’ you’re wrong.”

Dorian actually chuckled. “That obvious, huh?”

“You’d be surprised at the number of weirdos on the street that stop me daily to be part of their ‘modeling program’ or some other shit-stake to drag me into an alley and take my clothes off.”

“God,” Dorian muttered, “did you get hurt?”

A huff. “I look fragile, but I can defend myself.” Before he could say anything she leaned forward. “So your videos, what do you exactly record yourself doing?”

Grateful for the change of topic, Dorian looked at her. “I play videogames and I record myself making commentary on them.”

“And you got followers or what is it, subscriptors?”

“Subscribers,” he corrected. “Yeah, a few million or so.”

“A few-” she scoffed. “Show me a video, I want to see what you do.”

For some reason, Dorian got really nervous. He had millions of watchers looking at his stupid videos on the daily and one girl made him self-conscious of every single one. “Uh, okay. Wait here.” He stood up and went for his laptop, turning it on as he went down the stairs. Within a few minutes, he handed the laptop to her and showed her his YouTube channel.

“Princeling?” She asked.

“Online nickname.”

“Ah.”

It was a little odd to meet someone who didn’t seem to be connected to the internet as everyone else Dorian knew, though considering she was homeless, it wasn’t like she could afford the leisure time. He watched her pick one of his more recent horror compilations and left her to it as he went back to his seat. He observed her then, hearing himself yelling out or making bad jokes. Her face was impassive, but once or twice she gave a small smile.

When it ended, she faced him. “I have to admit, it’s pretty funny.”

“Thanks, I work harder on it than you might think.”

She nodded, “so when’s your next video recording or whatever.”

“Later tonight maybe, depends on if the power stays on.”

“Could I watch?”

He looked at her a little suspiciously. “Sure, but you can’t be in the video.”

“I don’t play videogames,” she countered, “though even if I did I don’t think I’d want to be part of your video.”

“Oh, you don’t want to be a part of it even if you did want to.” She seemed genuinely confused. “People would hunt you down.”

“Why?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Not liking the awkward, he stood up. “If you’re interested in getting a job, I can hook you up with an agency.” Manon actually laughed and the sound was so beautiful he was momentarily stunned.

“You mean like a _modeling_ agency?”

“A legit one, I’ll take you to it myself.”

“Hmm,” she pretended to think about it, “and how do I know _you_ are legit.”

“Hypothetically,” he began and she got comfortable, narrowing her eyes and looking like she belonged on a famous magazine cover. His distraction lasted only a few seconds. “If I wanted to hurt you, I could have done so already.”

“Hypothetically,” she repeated, sneaking in a teasing tone.

He smiled. “I let you into my house, I showed you my channel. If you need money, this is a good way to start.”

“No.”

Dorian clicked his tongue. “What? You already have a job?”

“Listen,” Manon countered, “I respect how people make their money, models included, but I don’t like the idea of pretending to be something I’m not.” He felt like she was leaving something out, like there was a time where she had done exactly that and knew the consequences it brought.

“I can respect that.” The blue-eyed man closed the laptop and drummed his fingers on the top. “How about we make a deal?”

“A deal,” she repeated.

He licked his lips, not sure why he wanted to convince her about this. He didn’t want her to suffer, didn’t want her to need a stranger to help her in times like this. “I’ll take you to my friend’s agency and you can stay here in the meantime, free of charge.”

Manon blinked and he could definitely see how strangers would approach her on the daily. “That’s not fair, I don’t have any money.”

Dorian pretended like he was shocked. “I guess you’re going to have to take my deal.”

“Where is ‘your friend’s’ agency?”

“Towards the north of the city, on Terrassen Street.”

“What’s your friend’s name?”

“Aelin, but I have friends all along that street.”

“So you want me to get a job there?”

Dorian shook his head. “I just want you to check it out. They give tours of the place and although there are auditions I think they’ll take you in.”

Manon nodded, her light hair dropping over one shoulder. “I don’t have to audition if I don’t want to, right?”

“Nope, you can choose to do whatever you want after the tour.”

“And I can stay here for how long?”

“We can discuss that _after_ we check out the agency, but you can at least stay until this storm clears out.”

He watched her gold eyes take in the room, the expensive couches and high ceilings. “Alright,” Manon said after a bit, “deal.” 

He nodded. “Deal.”

…

The storm cleared out within two days and Dorian followed Manon down a sleazy alley between two rundown buildings that held arguments and clotheslines. “This is where you live?” He asked her as she moved some boxes out of the way to reveal a break in the wall.

“Temporarily,” she explained as she ducked inside.

“I’m wondering if I’m the one who should be worried about being hurt here.”

Manon gave him a look before they emerged in a sealed off room, tiny, with no windows. There was an old mattress on a corner, a car seat that was next to a box and a couple of magazines scattered about the floor. There was a used black backpack on the mattress, which Manon picked up. “Alright, let’s go.”

“That’s it?” He asked in shock, “that’s all you own?”

She seemed unbothered at the question. “Well, when you are homeless there’s not much to own.”

“Sorry, that was out of line.” It was just hard to imagine someone living like this. Dorian saw homeless all the time, just not ones that looked like her.

“It’s fine, now where are we going?”

He led her back outside toward where the taxi was waiting for them. “It’s a place about ten minutes from here, a talent agency called Elentiya Entertainemt. They’re pretty well-known although the business is still growing.”

“Look,” she started, “I know I’m…pretty,” she said the word like she didn’t like it, “but it doesn’t mean I’m talented. There are a million pretty faces around.”

“No, but you’re gorgeous.” He caught himself and went beat red with embarrassment. “Uh, I didn’t-I mean-”

She waved it off. “It’s fine, thanks.”

They went quiet for the rest of the trip and when they finally arrived, Dorian watched Manon observe the large building skeptically. They didn’t say anything as they walked forward and as they went past the guard at the front, Manon finally spoke up. “Well, if this is fake then I deserve to be kidnapped.” When Dorian looked at her like he didn’t understand, she clarified. “I’m joking.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re very carefree about that,” he commented as they arrived at the waiting room.

She shrugged and he noticed the small hole her gray jacket had on the back of her shoulder. It seemed she’d tried to stitch it recently too since it was halfway closed with a white thread that didn’t match the gray. He wondered how long she’d been homeless and if she struggled way more than she let on.

“Dorian? Is that you?”

The mentioned one smiled as a familiar woman walked toward them in comfortable but fashionable clothes and styled hair. She was the head of the modeling department and was also a model herself. “Hey Lysandra, thanks for taking my call and making room like this.”

She grinned back like she wanted him to notice how she got her teeth whitened just the week before even when he knew she was in a happy relationship with Aelin’s cousin. “Babe, for you I would open up my whole week. Now, what do we have here?”

They both turned to Manon who stared back at them a little awkwardly. “This is my friend, Manon, I was wondering if you could give her an audition.”

Lysandra turned skeptical then, but Dorian could tell she wasn’t being mean or taking a personal approach at the matter. “Hmm, how old are you?”

“Twenty-three.” Dorian blinked as she was actually older than him.

“Have you ever done any type of modeling work before?”

“No.”

Lysandra didn’t react. “Have you done any work in the entertainment business at all? And I even mean things like janitor or assistant.”

Manon seemed to hesitate, thinking it over. “…I went to a special school for a few years,” she admitted, “but I dropped out.”

“What’s the name of the school?”

The young woman looked over Dorian like she didn’t want to tell him, still she turned back to Lysandra. “Ironteeth Prep.”

Both of their eyes widened and Dorian remembered how a friend of a friend went to that school, although it was described more like a military academy than anything else. Lysandra got over her shock carefully. “Were you in it for modeling?”

“Martial arts and dance.” Dorian didn’t even know they gave martial arts at the school, but it made sense.

The dark-haired beauty weighed her options. “I’ll let you audition, but before that, come with me.”

As Lysandra began walking Manon turned to Dorian who shrugged a little. “You want me to go or…?”

She frowned a bit as she considered it. “I guess you can stay if it’s allowed.”

Lysandra heard everything and seemed to understand that Manon wasn’t completely comfortable around the place. “You can come watch and see if you want to audition yourself. Maybe you’ll finally try it out.” Dorian ignored her, not because he didn’t think he would get in, but due to the fact that he truly _was_ uninterested in modeling work. He much preferred being in front of a camera while being himself, not posing for some brand he hadn’t heard until the day of the shoot.

For the next hour, he and Manon were shown around the building and introduced to a few people, mainly designers, photographers and one or two graphic designers. She explained the history of the Elentiya Entertainment brand and showed the duo a few upcoming shoots and photo albums within their brand. By the end of the tour, Lysandra smiled. “I would like you to meet one more person before you go today. He and I will be judging your audition tomorrow.”

For some reason, Dorian became nervous at the prospect. What if Manon, with all the beauty she had to offer, just wasn’t good enough? She lacked experience and Lysandra had made mention that even though dancing required artistic talent it didn’t mean Manon would be particularly good at modeling. The trio entered a room filled with different types of clothes on mannequins and a handful of makeup stations. A handsome man with blonde hair spotted them and with a wave came up to them.

“Hey, Ly. New prospects?” He asked, as he observed Manon closely. Dorian was surprised to see his stare as being merely professional and blinked a few times when he looked over him as well.

“I’m not auditioning,” Dorian clarified.

“She is. Fenrys, this is Manon and Dorian, guys this is Fenrys. Our head of makeup.”

Fenrys smiled charmingly, going so far as to bow a little. “Nice to meet you both. Manon was it? Hmm.” He gave her a little once over before going in a circle around her. “Very nice face, what’s your routine?”

The white haired woman raised an eyebrow. “My routine?”

“Yes, what are you wearing to look like you do right now? I will admit it looks crazy natural.”

Not understanding, Dorian watched Manon appearing the same way. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, “I don’t understand.”

Lysandra cut in with a hidden smirk. “He’s asking what kind of makeup you’re wearing and how you do your makeup routine.”

Manon went quiet for a bit, going between Lysandra and Fenrys. “I…I don’t wear makeup.”

The shocked expressions made Dorian frown. Wasn’t it obvious she didn’t wear makeup? He thought while observing her face. He could tell the moment he met her. Fenrys spoke first. “Well then…” he trailed off as he kept his eyes on her face. “You said her audition was tomorrow?”

“Yep,” Lysandra replied before shooting a look at Dorian that had all kinds of ‘where did you get this girl from?’ written over it.

He decided to speak up. “I hope you don’t mind if I tag along tomorrow too, then?” He asked, knowing Manon would appreciate his words even though they were still partly strangers.

Lysandra understood while Fenrys gave Manon another walk-around. “She would be good for Prada, has that look to her.”

“We’ll talk all that _after_ the audition, Fen,” Lysandra warned, but it was clear she was imagining it too. “We’ll have it in the morning tomorrow if that’s alright with you both?”

Dorian glanced at Manon who crossed her arms. He managed to hide his smile, she wasn’t saying ‘no.’ “That will be perfect. What time exactly?” When they were told his grin finally made its way out. “Great, we’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Great! Can’t wait!” Lysandra replied.


	14. When Iron Melts

Dorian tapped his foot impatiently as he looked over the vast gardens along stone paths, the morning sun reflecting upon clear water, birds singing as they began their early routine. This was a holiday, the King thought to himself. So why was he feeling like a straggling ilken was going to pop up at any second and start beheading things?

He took a step back from the view, turning around to the more heavenly sight on the bed, still wrapped in silk sheets and breathing evenly. His magic lazily strolled over to the mattress, blanketing the tether to his heart in an invisible sheen, counting breaths and feeling as her own budding magic-free of the iron that bound it-tentatively grazed against his own without disturbing her sleep.

That’s how connected they were now, he mused, as his heart calmed and his anxiety died down. There was no war, no Valg or gods dictating what they would do. It was just them now. Dorian should enjoy it.

Especially because it was a rare treat to catch Manon sleeping in.

With a smile, he headed to her side, loving how the sheets pooled across her naked waist, how her hair made the white of the pillow look dull, how just her presence made him feel complete and tethered and so in love he sometimes felt the romance books he read growing up were nothing but speculations and assumptions about something the authors couldn’t grasp. Something words couldn’t describe.

He sat next to her softly, even when he knew she wouldn’t wake. His eyes took the intricate iron armlets on her upper arm, glinting even when there was no light shining upon them. Despite the fact that the rings were beautiful, he hated the darkness lurking underneath the shiny stones adorning them. The purpose they had.

He thought he could finally give a sigh of relief when Erawan was defeated, thrown into the portal along with the gods, the Valg disintegrating as soon as their master vanished into another dimension. Dorian had turned to look across the battlefield, his ears still ringing and had felt lucky. Lucky that most survived, that his closest friends had made it.

Aelin, despite the blood and gore on her, had given a hint of a smile as her two-toned eyes took in her mate-torn up in a similar fashion-but alive and breathing.

Dorian wanted his own reunion. The realization that the war was over, that he could finally have a life without violence-

His magic, what little was left, felt it before he did. The hair on the back of his neck sticking up at the build-up of something powerful and old.

_Manon._

She had yielded and yet she stood there, breathing and upright, the magic that had helped them before in a blinding wall of light gone along with her iron. ‘It had felt like shadowfire,’ she later told him as she described how her iron left her, how none of the witches had it now, be it Crochan or Ironteeth. ‘Like my flesh was burning.’

But nothing had prepared them for this.

‘ _When iron melts, when the flowers spring from fields of blood-_ ’

It had been the blooming of a white carnation next to her dirty boot that had been the first sign, followed by a tiny cattail he would have missed had she not stepped back and revealed the patch of grass in the shape of her boot with the mentioned flower growing right in the middle of it.

The prophecy had made it sound peaceful, romantic even, but the force of magic that had burst from Manon had everyone scrambling back. Distantly, Dorian had heard Rowan yell something. Urging Manon to reel it in, to steady herself. But the witch wasn’t listening, couldn’t. Not with the unfamiliar nature of unhindered magic flowing through her veins from a century of being held back.

Dorian had acted on instinct, forming a shield around her, holding back the ancient magic from hurting the warriors around her. No other witches seemed to have this problem, as they all stared wide-eyed at their Queen. He tried to get close and help her, but the magic was thick and roiling around her like the waves on a beach in the middle of a storm. And he could sense more than see the burnout getting closer.

Rowan had stepped next to the King, signaling to someone Dorian didn’t see as his eyes were on Manon, on his Queen.

“How do we help her?” He rasped, turning to Rowan. He couldn’t lose her now, he thought, not when this war was over and all he wanted was to kiss her, to live with her.

“It will not be nice,” the Fae admitted as he and two of his cousins raised their bloodied hands.

Dorian couldn’t have stopped them even if he wanted to, as the trio cut the air from Manon’s lungs and the whirling and rumbling stopped with her. Although Asterin beat him to her, he was the one to catch her as she fell forward, her magic dormant for the moment. Not controlled however, it would take more than unconsciousness to control it.

He stroked her hair as he remembered the hurried conversation he had with Rowan and a few others later that same day. They had moved to the war tents, as medics tended to their wounds and the dead were being carried out. Petrah had been the one to suggest the iron, to contain the magic until Manon learned to control it.

A look to Asterin had confirmed the suspicions and he had nodded.

Aedion had been the one to propose a collar.

**_A collar._ **

Safe to say, he had not been present when hastily made iron bands were placed on the Queen’s wrists. And Manon had awoken just in time to keep Dorian from gutting the demi-Fae, distracting him for long enough that Aedion got away-for the moment.

“I thought you said we would both sleep in.” Dorian pretended he hadn’t heard her, focusing on her hair instead, continuing his ministrations.

She sat up and stared at him, and he took in the beautiful face with a small smile. “I was restless,” he admitted and touched at the band on her left arm to let her know what he was thinking about.

Manon placed a hand around his bare waist. “We’ve agreed to work on that,” she said and he closed his eyes as her lips brushed his cheek. “But we’re not here to dwell on my magic.”

No, they had already trained extensively when possible even when they both had Kingdoms to run and a relationship to maintain, not that the latter took much to cultivate given the way they connected in both the physical and emotional sense. And this holiday was certainly what they needed.

He kissed her softly, and with his magic urged her own to respond. Manon growled, “no, we’re not training right now.”

Dorian licked at her lips, knowing she would probably bare iron teeth if she had any. “This might be a holiday, but we have to keep you in top shape, witchling.” She leaned back, and he chuckled as he went in for another kiss. “Come now, don’t be like this, love.”

He felt her fingers on his hair, but frowned when she pushed him back with her other hand. “You have something on your hair.”

“What is it?”

He glanced at her face and his confused look turn to laughter as she twirled an unnamed wildflower between her fingers. It had been almost as amusing as the time they went to the remains of Rifthold’s castle and the ivy kept growing in her direction, enough that when they woke in the morning the room they were in was overflowing with it. Or the first time Manon stepped foot on the Wastes and a bout of green grass and spring flowers had burst from her footsteps even when the area she was in was desert and it was summertime.

She had more control now, able to make things grow at will, and even having her magic manifest in other ways. Dorian kissed her scarred knuckles as he took the blue flower from her. “You truly are beautiful,” he muttered and since there were no gods to thank, he thanked the sun, the moon, the stars.

Manon leaned in to kiss him and he couldn’t get enough of her taste, her scent. Of home, he thought as she eased him unto his side first, and then his back.

She was his home.


	15. Together

Dorian smiled softly at the newborn he held in his hands, marveling the perfect little features, the cherub face, the dark hair and that hint of gold when she blinked sleepily. He was alone in the study room, surrounded by his books and trinkets. It was the only place quiet enough for the baby to sleep, the only place he could just stop thinking and rock her.

That tiny face reminded him so much of her it hurt, he could see it even when it had only been hours since the birth. The cheekbones, the forehead, the shape of the eyebrows, even the lower lip being slightly bigger than the upper.

“You and I,” he whispered, as the witchling pursed those same lips, “we’re going to be a team. We’re family. Together against the world, huh?”

The silence that greeted them threatened to suffocate him, but it was better than facing what was outside that door. At least for a few more minutes. “I love you,” he said, and it was uttered like a promise. And when the baby scrunched her face in discomfort he automatically rocked her again, being careful to not jostle, but to keep a soft consistent rhythm.

He just wished he had more control.

As if to prove his point, the child began to squirm again, and he sighed as he took her against him. “It’s alright. Papa is here.” The word was both a revelation and a stab to the chest. It didn’t help that a look at the clock between the paintings made his skin crawl.

He knew what she wanted.

The first cry made his head hurt, and Dorian fruitlessly tried to shush her with his warmth and voice. “Just a little longer,” he begged her, “I just want to have you for a little longer.”

The past two hours had been like a suspension in time, where they were the only people in existence and there wasn’t a world waiting outside that small room.  Dorian had never hated his position as King as much as he did at that moment. He didn’t want to face a kingdom when he couldn’t even stand to face his own bedroom. The study was the only place that was different enough to give him some semblance of calm.

And non-existent gods, he needed it.

If not for him, then for the crying bundle in his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he told her just as a tentative knock sounded at the door.

It made his headache worse and he rubbed at his puffy cheeks before using his magic to open the door.

He didn’t look up as a female voice spoke to him. “The wet nurse is here.” Careful words muttered in an equally measured tone. As if any little thing was liable to set Dorian off. He figured at this point, anything could.

“I can be there with her, right?”

It took a moment for Asterin to speak, “she can come to you, I’ll be back with her in a few minutes.”

Dorian nodded, his eyes still on his daughter as the door was closed again, the soft click of it making him shudder. And despite the baby’s cries gaining volume, the sound didn’t register in his ears. It was instead replaced by something louder, a longing so deep he was susceptible to pass out from the shock of it.

The loose items in the room began to rattle as Dorian’s magic searched for an outlet to his turbulent emotions. He was sure he would destroy the whole room, the whole castle-if it wasn’t for the child in his arms. The only thing keeping him tethered.

He turned unfocused eyes on her, on the little fists held up in the air, at the strong cries that meant those lungs were working well. His vision heavily blurred, but he kept his eyes on the silhouette and the loud cries. Proof of the life that resided in that tiny body.

When the door opened a second time, Dorian did raise his head. He looked at Asterin and then at the woman next to her who bowed low and introduced herself when she felt his gaze on her. He paid her no mind, hating the fact that he couldn’t do anything to stop what was about to happen. But biology was biology, and it defiantly ruled over everything, even magic.

A chair was pulled up and the King took in a few breaths, preparing his mind to tell his hands to hand over what was left of his sanity to a stranger who was going to form a bond with her. A bond that did **not** belong to her.

Above the child’s cries, Dorian’s words were still heard. “I don’t think I can do this.”

It was a selfish thing to say, a selfish thing to want to keep his daughter from sustenance. But nothing of this day had been fair, and the new father was tired.

The woman mumbled something, however it was Chaol who made him refocus. The King hadn’t even noticed him enter the room.  “She needs to eat, Dorian.”

Such simple words.

He let go.

And closed his eyes as the cries became whimpers, later sniffles, and then finally ceased.

A hand on his shoulder startled him, and he turned dead eyes to his First Hand. “Come take a walk with me.” Dorian didn’t want to see his daughter feeding, but he also wanted to stay right there and never take what was left of his soul out of his sight. Chaol seemed to sense it, “we’ll be just outside the door.”

“You can leave it open,” the witch said.

The King let himself be dragged across the room and he was surprised to see no one else in the antechamber. Only a few hours before it had felt like the whole rutting kingdom had been in his quarters. And despite the number of people there to ‘help’ none of them could stop it.  

The quiet jarred him now.

“Dorian.”

…

“Where is she?”

…

There was no need to question who ‘she’ was. “On the bed, she’s…peaceful.”

…

No, Chaol, he wanted to say-to scream-

**She’s dead.**


	16. One Last Time

Dorian Havilliard couldn’t stop the greedy smile that brightened his features as he felt the Witch Queen press closer against him, her scent and warmth flooding his senses in ways that would drive any man mad. It was winter however, an unusually cold one at that, or so he made Manon think sometimes.

The former Prince had always been a cuddler, and unfortunately he rarely had the opportunity to do so. His one-night adventures always ending in separate beds after a night of passion. For some reason, although he always knew he would rest better with a warm body next to him, he couldn’t convince himself to do so with the women and men he bedded before. It didn’t feel right.

Thoughts of Sorscha filled his mind, and he tried to think on those memories positively. The talk he had with Manon about it just two days before helped, and so did having her close enough that he could hear her faint, even breathing against his chest. Whatever this was developing between them, he thought, it seemed like it was going to end well.

They had both suffered enough.

A little miffed at the dark turn of his thoughts, Dorian stared at the white flap of the small tent, the moonlight so bright it illuminated the interior enough to make out faint shapes. Even within the confines of the tent, her hair seemed to glow and he drank in the sight of it draped so haphazardly on his clean shirts, the closest thing to a pillow they could find.

He didn’t mind that it was her hair on it, as he was starting to really enjoy having her scent in his nose whenever he dressed. And later in the day, when she was out on Abraxos and away from him, a whiff of his clothes was enough to remind him that she would return, the tent would be set up, and they would sleep in it together.

Dorian went stiff with surprise when he felt her hand shift up and over his waist and the goosebumps that appeared where her fingers trailed made him both warm and uncomfortable. Warm because she trusted him enough to sleep deeply next to him, but uncomfortable because she was starting to have a certain power over him that was only growing each day he spent next to her.

It was like a drug, these feelings.

And he wasn’t even counting the fact that they hadn’t been intimate in weeks. The traveling and fighting keeping them too tired to try anything even remotely sexual. Which, in Dorian’s opinion, made it that much worse, because she didn’t need to take off her clothes for him to know what he wanted.

And he was wanting her, in the full sense of the word.

He just wished this all to be over, and for a moment allowed himself the selfish thought of imagining a future without war…and with her. Acknowledging he wanted that future, and going so far as to fantasize about it made him nervous because this was it.

He was positive that if it wasn’t with Manon, if he lost her or she rejected him-both very possible scenarios-he was done with his feelings.

“Would you love me back?” He whispered as he curled over her and buried his face in her neck.

Perhaps he should end it all before it broke him further. He would feel the hit of separation heavily if he ended it that tonight, but if he let it fester…he didn’t know if he would be able to take it.

A small groan escaped his lips and he felt frustrated that the source of his misgivings was also the only thing giving him any sort of comfort.

A witch…out of all the women in the world he had to have a crush on an assassin, fall in love with a rebel, and end up in an even deeper hole of feelings-so deep he was sure, again, that there would be no other…with a witch-queen.

“…Dorian.”

The mentioned one almost jumped at the sound of her voice, and even then, he enjoyed the sleepy intonation to it. “Hm?”

“You’re squeezing me.”

“Oh! Forgive me,” he muttered weakly, letting her go and feeling bad when she breathed out in relief. As her eyes lifted to his he explained, “when I can’t sleep I fidget and well…” he trailed off, not knowing how to properly relay his thoughts.

“Squeeze things?” She finished for him, taking the hand that was around his waist back. He immediately missed the warmth, so he did something he hadn’t dared to do before. He slowly took her hand and placed it back.

When he caught her frown, he explained, “keep it there. I like it.”

The oddest expression took over Manon’s face, and Dorian couldn’t tell if she was annoyed, angry, or just shocked. But she didn’t take her hand away, and he used the surprise to his advantage, placing a hand behind her back and pulling her into his chest. “You’re right,” he whispered into her ear, “I do like to ‘squeeze things.”

As if to prove his point, he hugged her close, but not enough that it impeded her breathing like before.

Her response was not what he expected.

“I don’t understand what you’re doing.”

He backed off, but only to look at her face. “What?”

“What are you doing?” She asked again and raised her hand in emphasis, “What is this?”

Dorian didn’t know how to respond, so he just stared at her for a few moments before he shrugged. “I’m not sure,” he paused, and then went for her hand again, but this time to lace their fingers together. “It just…feels right.”

The coldness that suddenly took over her body was instantaneous and Dorian’s face dropped when she sat up and leaned away from him. He imitated her when she grabbed her travel wear. “Maybe we should sleep in different tents tonight.”

“No, hey, wait.” He went for her upper arm and she glared at him like he was stopping her from going to Abraxos. “Look, I’m tired and half awake, I don’t know what I say most of the time.”

Her lips were held in a thin line before she spoke, “I think we both know what you’re saying.” The King couldn’t help but pull her back when she tried to go for the tent flap. “Let me go right now.”

“Just hear me out-”

She pulled at him, “no, let **go**.”

“Manon.”

“If you don’t let go of my arm this instant I will tear you apart and feed you to the wyverns.”

The comment made him flinch and he gave her a hurt look. “Don’t go,” he muttered, sounding closer to a plea than he meant it to. It worked though, she didn’t struggle as she blinked at him.

“I don’t know what you want.” He felt like there was something else Manon was trying to tell him.

_I don’t know if I can give you what you want._

He let go of her arm, but only to snake it around her waist, to pull her close as he said, “I just want you.” Dorian knew she was overwhelmed, could feel it in the way she froze as he tilted his head to kiss her cheek. “The nights are the only thing I look forward to, don’t ruin whatever _this_ is when it’s the only time we’re both calm.”

Content with saying his part, Dorian finally let her go, taking his hand away and even going so far as to scoot back so they weren’t touching anywhere. His serious façade almost broke when Manon crossed her arms and huffed, “Why are mortal men so confusing?”

He couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh, mindful of the others sleeping in the nearby tents. “You think I’m confusing?”

“You spiel a monologue on wanting me to stay and then let me go at the last second. What isn’t confusing about that?”

“I just want it to be your choice.”

The witch stared at him for a while, her golden eyes bright even in the dim lighting. “You mean that?”

“Yes,” he said earnestly.

As if on a prowl, Manon went toward him, going so far as to brush her lips against his before saying, “then I’ll see you tomorrow, princeling.”

Dorian could only watch, wide-eyed and with his jaw comically open as Manon took her things, _winked_ at him, and left the tent.

And despite the fact that she truly had left, a smile spread over his face.


	17. Would You Let Me Kiss You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Some harsh language

Dorian let out a long breath as he watched the gathered in mild interest, a half empty drink in his hand. It was about two in the morning and the music was pumping almost annoyingly high from the center of the large apartment he was in. It wasn’t that the reluctant Havilliard didn’t like parties or fraternizing in general, it was just that he was tired and he didn’t know most people there. It was Aelin’s party after all, and she was too busy entertaining guests to pay him much mind. It didn’t help that Chaol felt he needed to be responsible that night and had stayed behind at their shared flat back at the university.

“Hey.”

The young man turned to his right and had to pretend to take a drink from his cup to hide his shocked cough. It was a young woman, one that took about two classes with him and was a step away from being runaway model material.

He knew her name.

Manon Blackbeak.

But let’s be honest here. Everyone knew her name. She was a straight-A student who was studying two mayors at once, and co-owned a member’s only club called ‘The Thirteen’ a few blocks from the nearby university football field. As far as he knew most of the popular kids hung out in the ground floor, but only certain female students could go up to the ‘exclusive’ second and third floors.  

He wasn’t sure what she was doing at Aelin’s party, but it’s not like he was going to question her about it.

Dorian tried to appear as calm as possible, especially as she stared up at him with those pretty hazel eyes, so yellow they looked gold. “Hey.”

“Listen,” she said and because of the music he couldn’t hear her well and she seemed to expect that so she leaned into him, so close he could smell her and wow, it was heavenly. “I know this is weird, but you see that blonde guy with the wavy hair?”

Discreetly, Dorian looked over and spotted the man she was talking about. Big guy, probably from the university’s football team from how tall and buff he was. “Uh, yeah?”

“Well, he’s my ex and I really don’t want to talk to him.” As she was saying this, Dorian noticed how the guy stole glances at them, like he was waiting for her to finish talking only to go after the blue-eyed sophomore and hang him by his underwear in the college campus field while his gorilla friends watched.

“Hey, you alright?”

Dorian blinked as he openly stared at her perfect face. “Yeah, peachy.” Who the fuck used ‘peachy’ as a way to say they were okay? She must think him an idiot.  

She smiled at him a little. “Would you let me kiss you?”

Or not…

“I’m sorry?” He asked, he couldn’t have possibly heard her right.

“I just need you to pretend to be my boyfriend for a few minutes, so he thinks I’m taken.”

Holy shit?

When Dorian merely stared at her, she actually backed off. “It’s cool, you have a girlfriend?”

“No.”

“Boyfriend? My cousin told me she thought you were with Westfall-” Her cousin said what?! Why were they even talking about him and Chaol in the first place?

The mentioned one lifted his hands “Uh, no, listen-I’m just…surprised is all…” He paused. “You know who I am?”

She narrowed her eyes a little and he pictured kissing her and wondered if he had a little too much to drink. “Dorian, right? We take two classes together, right?” He couldn’t believe she had actually noticed him. “So, yes or no?”

Perhaps it was the time, or the drink in his hand, or just plain boredom that made him do it, but fuck it, he was going for it. He leaned in with a soft smirk, his hand on the wall next to her. “So from zero to ten how much do you want him to think we’re together?” He asked.

She mimicked his tone as she got closer, her hand on his hip. “Ten.”

Glancing at the guy and making sure he was watching, Dorian placed his arm on Manon’s waist and leaned in. “Laugh a little,” he whispered in her ear and she actually did, toying with his cup as she gave him a little access to her neck. Her skin was softer than he imagined, and the perfume she wore was literally going to drive him mad.

He stroked her hair a bit, figuring this was the one and only time he was going to be able to have access to those tantalizing silken locks. Manon raised an eyebrow, but let him do as he pleased as she took a sip from his drink while he was still holding it. “How long have you had that in your hand?” She asked quietly, humor in her voice.

“It’s so people won’t offer me more.”

Manon nodded a bit and he caught her looking before she turned to him and touched the side of his chin, urging him to lean down. He smirked a bit before doing so and met her lips hotly, making sure it looked natural and wondering if _she_ had too much to drink.

It was full-fledged and long, their tongues tasting each other out, noses brushing as they tilted their heads. She tasted like a sea breeze, like the mountains he used to love visiting while his family stayed in their winter home. As they separated quicker than he would have wanted to, Dorian discreetly looked over blondie and watched as the guy huffed before moving away from sight, hopefully back to whatever steroid-induced frat house he called home.

Manon sighed in apparent relief. “Thanks for that,” she told him as she fixed up his shirt, her fingers drawing chills wherever they touched.

“No problem,” he bit out, still a little lightheaded from the kiss. But another thought caught his mind. “Does he bother you a lot?”

Hesitation as she blinked. “I can handle him. You were just…a nice surprise.” Before he could wonder what the heck she meant by that, she gave him a heart-stopping smile. “See you in class, princeling.”  

As she turned to go, he went for her arm. “Don’t think I’ll forget this, witchling.”

A chuckle was his answer, and after flashing him with another predatory grin, she was gone.


End file.
